The Quest for Wilbur
by Bob Wright
Summary: It's the summer of that magical year when Wilbur's fame spread far and wide. But a jealous rival farmer wants Zuckerman's Famous Pig for himself. And when he arranges Wilbur's pignapping, it's in Charlotte's hands to bring her friend home before he's shipped far away for profit. NOW COMPLETED
1. A Day in the Life of a Radiant Pig

THE QUEST FOR WILBUR

BY

BOB WRIGHT

AUTHOR'S NOTE: As a young child, I always wondered about the further lives of the residents of Zuckerman's farm, and what else might have happened during that magical summer. Here's one possible guess with a tale that, while likely implausible, could theoretically have taken place. For readers' reference: while primarily rooted in White's original book, a few elements from the popular animated adaptation will be included in this story as well, making it essentially an "ultimate Charlotte" tale.

Charlotte's Web and all related characters and indicia are registered trademarks of the Elwyn Brooks White estate, or whatever other persons or companies would apply, and the relevant publishing institution(s) (and, where applicable, of Paramount Pictures Corporation and the current holders of the Hanna-Barbera library). And now, as always, sit back and enjoy the story.

* * *

The rooster's crowing echoed loudly in the morning air as the sun slowly inched its way over the horizon, throwing its first rays over the land of Homer L. Zuckerman's farm. A few of these rays arced down towards the pigpen, shining hard off Wilbur's nose, rousing him from a sound sleep. Yawning, he rose to his feet and stretched, then inhaled the warm early August air. The air had seemed fresher all throughout the summer, he felt. Perhaps, he reasoned, after learning what normally lay in wait for pigs around these parts, he was subliminally taking the thrill of living each day more seriously. And for that, he had to thank...

"Good morning, Charlotte," he called up to the web above him in the barn doorway, glistening with the brand new word RADIANT in the glow of the early morning light. It had gone up in the web just three days ago, and already many of the same people who'd come to see him when the previous messages had "mysteriously" appeared had started returning again.

"Good morning, Wilbur," came the congenial response from above. He could just make out Charlotte in the center of the web, by the top of the second A. "I trust you slept well?" the barn spider lowered herself down a little on a line of silk so he could see her more clearly.

"I've been sleeping very well for a while now, Charlotte," Wilbur told her, turning his gaze towards the roadway leading into the farm, "How much longer until they show up again?"

"Shouldn't be too much longer if today's anything like previous days," remarked the old sheep in the pen to Wilbur's right, who had been doing the same thing, "It's usually been right after the crack of dawn. So, Charlotte," she turned her gaze up towards the spider, "How long do you plan to run with 'Radiant' as the key word this time?"

"I suppose it'll depend on Mr. Zuckerman's next move," Charlotte declared, squinting towards the main farmhouse from on high, "I suspect that he's going to...oh, excuse me a moment," she rapidly climbed up the thread to her web, where an early morning mosquito had blundered into it right below the N. Wilbur averted his gaze away; much as he had come to begrudgingly accept Charlotte's predatory habits as the price to pay for her protection to keep him alive, he had never been fully comfortable with seeing innocent insects meet a quick demise in her clutches.

His attention was now drawn to the loud honks to his left. "Good morning Zuckerman's Farm!" the gander announced out loud, rising to his feet next to the nest his wife was perched on, "Here's wishing everyone a happy morning-orning-orning!"

"A good morning to you and the family as well," Wilbur stuck his head through the fence, "I hope the weather holds today," he glanced up at the sky, which was indeed bright blue already, "The more people that show up..."

"Yes indeed, the more that come, the more we know you'll avoid a terrible fate-ate-ate," the goose rose to her feet as well. "Up and about, children," she directed her goslings, who scrambled to their feet, "Judging by standard practices, you have about five minutes to unwind before Lurvy comes with our breakfast-eakfast-eakfast."

The goslings, who had been aging slowly but surely all through the summer since their hatching, scattered in various directions to enjoy the morning. One, the smallest of all, bustled right for the fence. "Good morning, Wilbur," he greeted the pig fondly.

"Good morning to you too, Jeffrey," Wilbur smiled; he'd become quite close with the youngest gosling of the brood, who in fact had often hopped into his pen to socialize-and, it seemed at times, wished to be a pig himself. The young goose in fact now squeezed underneath the wood and trotted towards the trough. "He hasn't come yet, Jeffrey," Wilbur pointed out to him, "But I'll share as much with you as you'd want."

"Now Jeffrey, don't eat too much there," his father warned him, sticking his own head through the fence, "We do have our own meal coming too."

"Don't worry, sir, I'll make sure he won't eat too much," Wilbur assured the gander. He slid down onto his stomach and sighed happily. "Life feels so good right now, Jeffrey," he told the gosling, who flopped down in between his front legs.

"It sure does," Jeffrey agreed, turning and staring up at the words in Charlotte's web, "I guess you'd never have imagined this would ever happen, huh Wilbur?"

"Nope," Wilbur shook his head, "I'm so lucky to have Charlotte for a friend. I don't know what'll happen from here, but I can never thank her enough for everything she's done for me so far. I don't know what I'd do without her..."

"Humans coming, humans coming!" came the shout from the rooster, who was fluttering down from the top of the barn towards the chickens' enclosure on the opposite side. And indeed, Wilbur could hear the now familiar sound of engines on the road approaching the farm-and, it seemed, a lot of them. "Sounds like a good crowd today," he remarked, craning his neck towards the road.

"Looks like about a dozen, at least," the much bigger old sheep had leaped up on her hind legs against the front of her enclosure for a better view, "It looks like Radiant was a good word to choose, Charlotte," she called to the web.

"As I'd hoped," Charlotte nodded, having finished wrapping up the mosquito, "All right, places, everyone, this is it, again," she directed the animals all around the barn, who scrambled to get into position, "Just act natural and let Wilbur soak up the praise from the humans."

"He has it so easy," cracked one of the lambs, "He just has to walk around and look innocent."

"And if that's what it takes to save a life, so be it, I say," the old sheep nudged the lamb back towards the rear of their enclosure. "Well, might as well head back to your folks," Wilbur nudged Jeffrey similarly with his nose, "We can play later after everyone's gone."

"Come along, Jeffrey, and let Wilbur have his time with the humans," the goose called to him, sending the gosling scrambling back under the fence towards the nest. No sooner had he rejoined his family than the first set of cars started pulling up in front of the barn. By now, Wilbur was used to the protocol Charlotte had requested of him: as the humans approached the pigpen, he rose to his feet and pushed a smile of sorts onto his face for the approaching pack of humans, a good twenty in all. "Radiant," he heard a man amid the pack of humans declare, no doubt having seen the writing in the web, "Amazing, simply amazing..."

"He certainly looks radiant," a woman added, "One of the most radiant pigs I've ever seen."

"Definitely," a second man leaned over to smile at Wilbur, "First Some Pig, then Terrific, now Radiant; whatever's going on here, this is definitely a special pig..."

"Already!? Don't you people have any sense of decency!?" came the loud shout from under the trough. A pair of rodent hands grasped hold of the edges of the tunnel under the trough, unseen by the humans. "Good morning, Templeton," Wilbur greeted the rat, who was now pulling himself up to ground level.

"Earlier and earlier every time! Can't a rat get any peace and quiet around here!?" Templeton shook a fist at the oblivious humans, his gesture obscured by the trough, "There's been no quiet in these parts ever since Charlotte went ahead with this crazy scheme! Next thing, they'll be building amusement park rides through my tunnels, I just know it! I can see it now: rat-shaped cars rolling through all my living quarters, taking the...!"

"Templeton, relax!" Charlotte shouted at him from the web, "This is a small price to pay for Wilbur's life! Now if you've got nothing to...!"

She cut off abruptly. It was then that Wilbur heard a gruff voice in the crowd shouting, "Move aside, people, more aside!" The humans at the front of the line parted, leaving the pig face to face with a stern-faced elderly man wearing a formal suit and tie. He frowned hard at Wilbur. "That's it?" he mused with a scowl, "THIS is the pig that everyone's getting all excited about...!?" His gaze shot to the words in the web. "I don't believe it..."

"Mr. Barrens," it was Lurvy, approaching the pigpen with buckets of food for Wilbur, "Fancy seeing you around here. See for yourself, a miracle," he set down the buckets and pointed at the web.

"All right, how did Homer do it?" the newcomer asked with raised eyebrows.

"What do you mean?"

"Did he paint them in, or did he have his niece sew the letters in, or how did he do this?"

"Neither, Mr. Barrens; the letters just appeared," Lurvy told him, "I can't explain it, and neither can Mr. Zuckerman."

"Well I know YOU can't," the other man muttered softly under his breath. He glanced down at Wilbur. "Doesn't look like 'some pig,' or whatever the first words were..."

"But he is, Mr. Barrens, he's quite unusual..."

"Clearly," the newcomer glanced at the crowd. "Tell Homer I'm here. I want to have a word with him."

"Well, he's busy around the farm..."

"I have all day," the older man growled, "Tell him this is of the utmost importance."

"All right, Mr. Barrens. Just let me finish my chores here, and I'll let him know," Lurvy dumped Wilbur's breakfast into the trough. Wilbur, however, did not feel particularly hungry, as the cold gaze the old man was giving him as he turned to leave was searing into his soul, as if he was being X-rayed. "Charlotte," he trotted back towards the barn door, "Who is that man?"

"I don't know for sure, Wilbur, but there's something about him that doesn't quite seem right," Charlotte said, squinting at the retreating man.

"I know him," the old sheep spoke up, having stepped protectively in front of all the other sheep in the pen, "He's J.L. Barrens, the wealthiest farmer in the county. Mr. Zuckerman's farm wouldn't take up a quarter of his farm. And I've heard stories," she shivered, "Terrible stories about his farm, that perfectly healthy animals that go there never come out alive..."

"I've heard the same," the gander added, having similarly taken a protective position in front of his family, "A few years ago, a stray horse came by here, saying he'd escaped from Barrens' farm and claiming he'd been badly mistreated. Barrens caught him and took him back, and we never heard from him again. Nasty, nasty man by every stretch of the imagination-ation-ation."

"But what's he doing here, then?" the goose frowned, "He never drops in to visit the boss."

"I don't know, but I don't like it," Charlotte mumbled softly, "We would do well to keep an eye on Wilbur until he leaves..."

* * *

Several hours later, Wilbur had not seen Barrens leave the farm, although much of the crowd had by this point. The pig's gaze zoomed around the farm from the railing, scanning intently. "I haven't seen him go either," one of the lambs joined him at the front of the fence.

"It's not just him," Wilbur shook his head, looking in every direction, "Fern. She said she'd be here by lunchtime. It's close to dinnertime now."

"No need to worry, Wilbur; I'm sure she has good reason," the old sheep assured him with a knowing expression.

"But that's not like the Fern I know," Wilbur lamented, "She's always been there for me; now she's starting to..."

"Here I am, here I am!" a familiar voice rang out at the moment. Wilbur breathed a sigh of relief. Seconds later, Fern's bike skidded to a stop in front of the pig pen. "Sorry I'm late, Wilbur," Fern bent down to rub him behind the ears, "I was going to come earlier, but I ran into Henry in town, and he invited me to a movie. He was just so sweet about it that I couldn't say no..."

"I'll bet you couldn't," Templeton muttered in disgust from the entrance to his tunnel, "Just come out and tell it right to Wilbur's face; you're starting to..."

"Hush!" the goose honked at him. Fern looked up in surprise, then turned back to Wilbur. "I hope you've had a good day being radiant," she smiled at the word in the web, "Judging by how many people seem to have..."

She came to a sudden stop, her gaze turning towards the main farmhouse, where angry shouting could be heard coming out of the open window. Wilbur turned as well and listened to Barrens shouting, "...come on, Homer, you're being unreasonable here!"

"How am I being unreasonable, J.L.?" Mr. Zuckerman was much calmer, in contrast, "Wilbur is not for sale, and that is final."

"What are you going to do with him after this whole charade's over, Homer!? And why are you up to this charade in the first place!? Are you trying to show me up!?"

"Now why would Homer do anything of the sort, Mr. Barrens!?" Mrs. Zuckerman could be heard shouting now, "It's not his fault that you can't stand any other farmers looking better than you!"

"And it's not a charade, J.L.; I really have no idea how these words are appearing like this," Mr. Zuckerman added, "But it's clear Wilbur is a special pig."

"That's why I'm trying to be generous with you, Homer; fifty thousand dollars is more than enough for a pig like that, and if anything, I'm overpaying for him!" Barrens said sharply.

"Didn't you hear my husband? We're not selling the pig," Mrs. Zuckerman told him sternly.

"And then what are you going to do? Keeping a pig alive when we all know what they're bred for is insanity. Especially a runt like that. Come on, Homer, I'll give you a hundred thousand dollars for the pig. You can sell the farm, move to a place where you and the missus can enjoy retirement for..."

"J.L., for the last time, Wilbur is not for sale," Mr. Zuckerman said with great finality, "And no amount of money you offer can change my mind on this. Now I'll have to ask you to leave if you've got nothing else on your mind."

"All right, I'll go, Homer. But mark my words, you're making a big mistake turning me down!" Barrens threatened. Moments later, the farmhouse door banged open, and the elderly farmer stormed down towards the pigpen. Wilbur couldn't stop himself from running back into the barn and diving into a pile of hay. "Your owner's a stubborn man, you little runt," Barrens growled in his direction, "He's going to regret turning me down for you one of these days..."

"Leave Wilbur alone, Mr. Barrens!" Fern shouted at him, "Or...!"

"Or what!? You think a little girl like you knows better than an experienced farmer like me what's best for a pig!? I've heard the rumors of how that hog ended up here. Maybe you didn't do him any favors saving him like I hear you did. But on the other hand, I'm glad you did save him. Very, very glad," Wilbur noticed a smug smile spread on the elderly farmer's face before he finally turned and walked away. "He's gone, Wilbur, you can come out," Fern called to him once Barrens was out of sight. Wilbur hesitantly came back over and let her rub him on the back. "He's not going to hurt you, Wilbur, no one's going to hurt you," Fern assured him.

"Everything all right out here, Fern?" Mr. Zuckerman was coming over himself.

"Yes, Uncle Homer. Were you and Mr. Barrens...?"

"Now don't you worry none about that. I wouldn't sell Wilbur to anyone, especially someone like Mr. Barrens," Mr. Zuckerman assured her, giving her a hug, "Just put any thoughts of that out of your mind. Why don't you come on in? I have some peanut brittle for you."

"OK," Fern grinned, following him towards the farmhouse. Wilbur took a deep breath, but deep down, a worried feeling was now dwelling in him. "Charlotte," he approached the doorway again, "Do you think I'm going to be all right, with Mr. Barrens seeming to want me...?"

"For now, Wilbur, I believe you'll be fine. Mr. Zuckerman won't sell you to a man like J.L. Barrens, I can promise that. Still," Charlotte's voice was fraught with concern, "I think it might be better if we kept an eye on you for the foreseeable future. If Mr. Barrens seems so bent on having you, there's no telling what a man like that might do..."


	2. Pignapped!

"...swear this is no joke, Hiram; I can get you the real deal," J.L. Barrens said into his kitchen phone, "Just give me about twenty-four hours to set it up. Don't worry, I've thought of that as well; I've called the right people, and I'm going to make sure it's all legal..."

"You called, Mr. Barrens?" a plump, unshaven man in dirty work clothing entered the kitchen. Barrens held up a hand in his face. "Right. Got to go now, I'm going to set some things in motion here," he continued his call, "See you when you get here, but don't tell anyone where you're going when you do come. Good night."

He hung up. "I've got a job for you, Butch," he told the newcomer, "Call some of your old friends and tell them I've got a job for them that I'll pay real well for."

"Is it about Zuckerman's pig, Mr. Barrens?" Butch frowned, "Ever since those words started appearing in that web, you've been obsessed with that pig..."

"You bet it's about that pig, Butch," Barrens growled, clenching his fists, "I'm tired of Homer getting all the attention down at the grange and in the papers. He's nothing compared to me; why should a nobody like him have something like this happen to him? I'm the big farmer in these parts, if that blasted pig should belong to anybody, it should be me!" rage and jealousy flashed across his face, "It's time I get my respect in the county back, and since Homer was too stupid to let me purchase the pig, I'm going to make it mine the hard way."

"You want me to pignap Zuckerman's Famous Pig?" Butch gulped, "Mr. Barrens, do you realize how dangerous that might be? Everyone's going to notice if it's gone..."

"I've already thought ahead about that, Butch. And lest you forget, I got the sheriff elected into office in the first place, so he knows full well to turn a blind eye to anything I want to do," Barrens assured him, "And let me point out," he glared Butch down, "When I paid for your parole and hired you as my foreman here, it was, as you'll recall, with the express condition that I could fire you at any point for any reason-which I will if you refuse to do what I tell you to. All it will take is one call to the sheriff, and you'll go right back where I found you. Understand!?"

"V-Very clearly, Mr. Barrens," Butch nodded nervously, "What do you want me to do?"

"Take a walk with me down to the pig barn," Barrens put an arm around him, "I memorized what that pig looked like; we're bound to have one that looks exactly the same as it. Then I want you to call up your colleagues and tell them there's a thousand dollars for each of them if they do this right. Then you and they will go and..."

* * *

"If they were going to tromp up here, they could have bothered to have brought more food with them!" Templeton muttered under his breath, snatching up a half-eaten apple in one hand and a fragment of a sandwich in the other, which were one of the few food leftovers that had been dropped on the ground by the storage shed on the far end of the farm, "A rat can only do so much on his own around here, and if this crazy scheme's going to go all the way to the end, I should be reimbursed as much as possible for what they ask me to do in it!"

He scarfed the sandwich down in one gulp and stared around the darkened farm, barely illuminated in the light of a setting first quarter moon that was partially obscured by clouds. No other foods scraps were readily visible to the rat. "Oh well, I guess this is better than nothing!" he muttered, clutching the apple close, "Maybe tomorrow they'll bring more to leave for..."

Just then, an unusual sound reached his ears: footsteps crunching softly through the grass by the main barn. "What's this?" Templeton frowned, dropping the apple to the ground, "What humans would go creeping around like me in the middle of the night like this...?"

He scurried rapidly across the ground towards his home base near the main barn, but stopped within sight of the pens. Three shadowy figures, one clutching a bag that was squirming and squealing, were steadily approaching the pigpen. "Keep it quiet," one of the figures hissed at the plump man holding the bag. This man immediately clamped down tightly on the bag. "OK, let's make the switch quick," he told the other men, carefully climbing over the pigpen railing, "Then run like crazy with him."

"You sure this is foolproof?" whispered the other man.

"Mr. Barrens picked Number Six Nine Four Eight Five personally as a dead ringer for Zuckerman's pig," the plump man stood over Wilbur, who, like everyone else in the barn area, was sound asleep and unaware of the newcomers. "On three," the plump man hissed, "One, two, three!"

He hastily dumped the contents of the bag-a pig that, to Templeton's eyes even in the darkness, looked almost exactly like Wilbur-to the ground, then opened the bag wide as his partners promptly snatched Wilbur up and threw him into the bag. Wilbur let out a loud squeal of terror, which the plump man tried to muffle. "Quick, back to the truck, let's get out of here!" the plump man hissed softly to his colleagues. He vaulted the fence and took off running. The other men did the same, but the shorter one clipped his foot against the top railing and fell to the ground with a loud groan. Immediately, the gander leaped to his feet by the nearby nest and started honking at the top of his lungs in alarm, which triggered off loud neighs and moos and other noises from the other residents of the farm. "Shut up, you stupid animals!" the short man barked softly at them, hauling himself to his feet and taking off running after his colleagues. "Interesting," Templeton mused, watching the men vanish out of sight over the hill with their new pig, "Looks like old radiant Wilbur's more popular than he realized. Wonder what that old schemer's going to do now that her pig's gone?"

"What's going on out here!?" came Mr. Zuckerman's shout from the porch. The farmer was running down from the porch with a lantern in hand. Templeton crawled out of sight behind a rain barrel and watched Mr. Zuckerman approach the barn. "Calm down, all of you," he shouted to his wildly raging animals, "What's gotten you all up in arms like this!?"

"There, there, they went that way!" the rooster crowed hopping up and down and pointing after the pignappers with his beak. Mr. Zuckerman did not notice, holding the lantern high and staring at the pig in the pigpen that, as far as he could tell, was in fact Wilbur. "What's going on here, Wilbur?" he asked the pig, "Your friends having a midnight party? At least you're all right, though. All right, everyone, time to calm down and go back to bed," he told the other animals, giving them a stern look, "The missus and Lurvy and I would like to get some sleep."

"What's going on, Mr. Zuckerman?" Lurvy came running up in his nightshirt, also with a lantern in hand.

"No idea, Lurvy; they all just seem to have gone off for no reason," his boss stared around the animals, "Everyone seems to be all right, though. Hopefully they'll calm down now...what!?" he frowned down at the gander, who was pulling at his pant leg, "Go back to sleep, please!"

"Strangers, strangers on at the farm, they're going towards the wood-oods-oods!" the gander honked desperately, thrusting its neck towards the woods at the bottom of the hill. When Mr. Zuckerman and Lurvy instead walked off, he honked in frustration and waddled back towards the pigpen. "Did anyone get a good look at them!?" he asked around to the other barn residents, who were converging on or leaning towards the pigpen.

"What happened!?" a now awake Charlotte was descending on a line towards the pig in the middle of the pen, "Wilbur, are you all right!?" she asked the pig now in the pen.

"Who...who's Wilbur?" the pig asked, looked scared and confused, "I'm Number Six Nine Four Eight Five. Where am I?"

"Zuckerman's farm. Where are you from, Number Six Nine Four Eight Five?" the spider asked with a frown.

"I'm from the J.L. Barrens farm. What am I doing here?" the new pig asked, looking around in fear.

"More to the point," Charlotte squinted worriedly in the darkness towards the woods, "Why would J.L. Barrens want to take Wilbur...?"


	3. Charlotte to the Rescue

Wilbur quivered fearfully inside the bag, which seemed to be moving rapidly in a vehicle of some kind. "What's going on here!?" he thought worriedly to himself, "Who are these men, and where are they taking me!? And who was that other pig they'd left behind!? I don't understand this at all! Charlotte, Fern, Mr. Zuckerman, somebody come find me...!"

It was at this moment he felt whatever was driving him start slowing down. He raised his head high, desperate to learn anything about where he was being taken. "Let's go, you little slab of bacon," the man who'd carried him off said out loud, lifting the bag up and carrying Wilbur away. Footsteps could be heard approaching. "You've got him!?" came the chilling voice of J.L. Barrens, making Wilbur freeze up in fear.

"Yep, you're now the proud owner of Zuckerman's Famous Pig, Mr. Barrens," the other man said. Wilbur was blinded by a flashlight that was thrust into the opening bag. "Yep, that's him," Barrens snickered, "Only he's Barrens' Famous Pig now, with Homer none the wiser. All right, Butch, lock him up down in the basement; I want him well out of sight until..."

A whimper could be heard not far to Wilbur's right, followed by a thud. "Ah, what's the problem now!?" Barrens growled storming towards the sound of agonized neighing. "Why is that horse down!?" he demanded to another person, "I demand my work animals operate without issues!"

"He's been working for eight hours without a break, Mr. Barrens," another farmhand protested, "Maybe we need to..."

"Get up, you stupid horse!" Barrens bellowed angrily, "I said get up now!" When nothing happened, he roared, "Give me that whip, Butch! You listen good, you lazy horse, when I say get up, I mean GET UP!"

Horrifying cracking sounds rang out, making Wilbur wince inside the bag. They rang out for well over a minute before finally dying down. "Ah, he's useless!" Barrens muttered in disgust, "Once you get that pig in place, Butch, call the glue factory and tell them I've got another worthless nag for them to put out of its misery! Get this thing out of my fields!" he shouted to the other farmhand, "And get me a plow horse that can actually...!"

The rest of the conversation was lost to Wilbur as he was carried farther away from the farmer. He could not climb out of the bag, as Butch was squeezing the opening closed, and thus could only listen as he was carried up a small flight of stairs, across a wooden floor, and then through a creaking door and down a long flight of stairs, before finally going across a concrete floor. "All right, little guy, welcome to your new temporary home," Butch declared, reaching into the bag and shoving Wilbur forward into a large carrying case of some kind. Before he could turn around, a door swung shut and was locked. "Stay put and don't put up a fight, you little celebrity," Butch all but laughed at him, "You're going for a long ride pretty soon, so best to conserve your energy. You, make yourself useful for once and keep an eye on him," he barked at a small dog chained to a post not far away. The dog looked up at Butch with a forlorn expression as the farm foreman walked back up the stairs and closed the door. He then turned towards the carrying case with an intrigued look. "You're Zuckerman's Famous Pig, aren't you?" he asked.

"I'm Wilbur," the pig admitted. "Who are you?"

"My name's Clem. Or at least my mother called me that. Officially to Mr. Barrens I'm Dog Number Two-Thirteen. All the animals here officially go by numbers rather than names."

"Why are you chained down here?"

"I was the runt of the litter," Clem shook his head sadly, "Mr. Barrens only wants the best dogs to work on this farm. He trains all the dogs to be angry, to be rough, to tear the throats out of any animals that try to escape from here. When I couldn't do that, he chained me up down here."

"What am I doing here!? What does Mr. Barrens want from me!?" Wilbur asked the dog fearfully.

"I don't know," the dog confessed, looking grave, "But ever since you became famous, he's been really angry. I've heard him pacing back and forth upstairs, muttering that you should have been his pig if you got all the attention. He seems to think Homer Zuckerman created the whole thing with you to make him look bad. I suspect," he leaned forward, "that he wants to make money off you."

"But I don't want to be a moneymaker! I want to go home to Zuckerman's Farm!" Wilbur wailed.

"Home? Sorry to tell you this, but no one gets out of here alive," Clem lamented, drooping his head on the floor, "Mr. Barrens has scores of guard dogs and men on the perimeter of this farm at all hours. Looks like you're stuck here whether any of us likes it or not."

He sighed grimly. "But, since you are here," he looked up again, "Tell me: is it real? All the words in the spider web, is it really a miracle? Or is it actually a trick by Homer Zuckerman?"

"Trick? Well, it's not a trick, Clem-and it's not quite a miracle either. It so happens I met a friend named Charlotte, and she vowed she'd keep me from being killed," Wilbur explained. It was his turn to sigh. "I sure wish Charlotte was here now..."

* * *

"This emergency meeting will come to order," Charlotte announced loudly to the other farm residents, all gathered around the pigpen. She lowered herself down to the new pig. "All right, Number Six Four Eight Three Five..."

"Six Nine Four Eight Five," the pig corrected her.

"Well then, I'll call you Sixtus. It's a much more dignified name than a numerical one anyway. Explain to me everything that happened to you tonight."

"Well," the newly christened Sixtus took a deep breath, "I've spent my whole life on J.L. Barrens's farm. I was the runt of the litter, so I didn't get as much food as the other pig in my litter-there's thousands of us on the farm, and I get lost in the shuffle a lot. Well, anyway, tonight, I was just lying in the corner of my communal pen, minding my own business, when I saw Mr. Barrens and his foreman standing over me. 'This one looks just like him,' he said with a dark smile, 'Bring him.' The foreman shoved me into a sack before I could do anything. I was carried out of the barn and driven away. I was finally dumped out here, just in time to see them grab the pig that lives here. Was that really Zuckerman's Famous Pig?" he asked the spider.

"I'm afraid it was," Charlotte shook her head grimly, "Did you hear Mr. Barrens say why he wanted to have Wilbur?"

"Not everything. The truck's engine started right after I was loaded on it, and that drowned a lot out," Sixtus admitted, "But I heard him say something about a tour, and he mentioned Los Angeles."

"I see," Charlotte mused, swaying on her line with a frown, "It's getting clearer then: Mr. Barrens wants to exploit Wilbur and take him out on the road, earning money from his status as a famous pig. What better than to start the tour as far away from here as possible, where Mr. Zuckerman can't find him? You were obviously his insurance policy," she turned to Sixtus again, "His way of making sure no one knew Wilbur was gone until it was too late. We've got to hurry, then; he'll probably want to get Wilbur away from here as soon as possible. Can you tell us how to get to J.L. Barrens' farm?" she grilled the new pig.

"I'm sorry, but I don't recognize any of the landmarks around here," Sixtus frowned at the farmland visible around the barn, "I spent most of my life in the pig barn, and that's basically all I know."

"I know Barrens' farm is that way," the old sheep rose up on her hind legs and gestured with her nose to the west, "It would be about seven miles or so, but I'm not sure of the exact directions."

"That's a start, though. So you can come with me," Charlotte told the sheep, "We're getting Wilbur back before something awful happens to him. Are there any other volunteers to come along?" she asked the other animals.

"Count me in," both the goose and gander declared at once. They exchanged confused glances. "Someone has to look after the children-ildren-ildren," they told each other firmly.

"Then we'll come too!" the goslings all declared simultaneously.

"Absolutely out of the question!" the goose barked at her offspring, "With the horror stories I've heard about J.L. Barrens' farm, your father and I will not put any of you in danger at the hands of that madman-adman-adman!"

"But Mother, Wilbur needs us!" Jeffrey protested, "And he's my best friend in the whole world! I have to help him!"

"We all do!" one of his siblings added, "And we'll be doing it together as a family; you and Father keep saying we won't be together much longer, so let's do this together as a family!"

"Together as a family!" the other goslings chimed in. Their parents exchanged looks and sighed. "Very well, you can all come with us, as a family," the goose conceded, "But I expect you all to stay close and stay out of harm's way! This will be a dangerous mission we'll be going on, and the last thing we want to see is anything happen to any of you, understand?"

"Understood!" the goslings cheered as one. "Who else is coming with us?" the largest one looked around at the other animals.

"It would be best not to take too many members on the rescue party. If Mr. Zuckerman sees too many animals missing, he'll have the whole county looking for us, and we'd be caught before we'd get anywhere close to Wilbur," Charlotte pointed out. "However, Templeton," she turned to the rat, leaning disinterestedly against Wilbur's trough, "I could really use you on this quest..."

"Oh no, not this time, Charlotte you old schemer," Templeton told her smugly, "This rat's done with being your errand boy. Nothing you or anyone else will say or do is going to get me to come along on your little crusade this time."

"Templeton, please! Wilbur's in trouble!" Jeffrey pleaded with him, giving the rat a desperate look.

"Don't bother trying the sad eyes routine with me, kid. My mind's made up," Templeton told him off, "My answer is an unequivocal no."

"So I suppose you like eating all the excess food around the farm left by everyone who comes to see Wilbur, am I right, Templeton!?" the gander thrust his head through the fence and glared at him, "It would certainly be shame if that dried up and you'd be left thinner than a slice of paper. And if you do say no," he leaned right in the rat's face, "then, when we get back, I am going to give your selfish hide a thrashing-ashing-ashing that you will never forget!"

Templeton audibly gulped in fear. "Well...I'd better get a big reward if I do," he forced a stern expression on his face, "If I'm exposing myself to danger by going to a place where even rats never come out alive, I'd better be fairly compensated. So somebody name the right price, and name it fast."

"OK," the rooster disgustedly called down from the top of the barn, "I know where the neighboring farm's garbage pile's located. Help bring Wilbur back safely, Templeton, and I'll tell you where it is."

"All right, deal. I'll go," the rat conceded with a frown, "But you'd better follow through, buster," he warned the rooster, "I don't take well to being double-crossed."

"You will not be double-crossed, Templeton. All right, time for us to go, while it's still dark. Be as quiet as you can when you get out," Charlotte instructed the old sheep, who was backing up away from the fence of her enclosure, almost to the barn wall.

"I know how to be careful in getting out of here, Charlotte, so don't worry," the old sheep took a deep breath, rushed forward, and leaped high over the fence, landing gently outside. "All right, all of you take care of yourselves," she instructed the lambs, now crowding around the fence to nuzzle her farewell, "Keep an eye on them while I'm gone," she instructed the nearby horses.

"Jeffrey, over here," Charlotte called to the youngest gosling, who waddled into Wilbur's pen and positioned himself underneath her web. She lowered herself down onto his beak. "Take me to her," she instructed him, gesturing with one leg at the old sheep. Jeffrey obligingly waddled towards the sheep, stopping right behind her. Charlotte climbed up the ewe's leg, across her back, and up to her left horn. "Many thanks," she commended the gosling, "Go stay close with your family."

"Line up, children, and stay close behind your father and I at all times!" the goose instructed her goslings, nudging Jeffrey into line with them, "I expect you to stay within sight of us; do not wander off no matter how tempting it may be. We will eat and drink and sleep at duly designated intervals and not at any other times. Above all, while your father and I appreciate what contributions-utions-utions you may be able to give on this mission, leave the dangerous items to we adults in this group. Is that clear!?"

"Very clear!" her children declared, "Let's get going-oing-oing!"

"I can tell I'm really going to love this!" Templeton muttered in disgust, crawling under the pigpen's lower railing and reluctantly joining the rescue party, "I'll probably have to babysit those undergrown Christmas dinners half the time too! This is no way for an independent rat to...!"

"All right," Charlotte cut him off, "Let's get a move on. The sun will be up in a few hours, and we need to be a reasonable distance away from Mr. Zuckerman's farm by the time he's up. Get us to the main road," she instructed the old sheep, "Then we'll keep to the woods so we're not spotted."

"All right," the old sheep took a deep breath, "Here we go, then."

"But wait, what should I do?" Sixtus called out from the pigpen.

"Try and get Mr. Zuckerman to realize that you're not Wilbur any way you can," Charlotte instructed him, "Good luck, to you and everyone else."

"Goodbye! Good luck!" the other animals cheered on the rescue party as it set off towards the lane away from the farm. Up on the old sheep's horn, Charlotte took a deep breath. "Well, here's hoping this works," she mused softly to herself, staring back at the other animals trailing behind her, "Have faith, Wilbur, we're on our way..."


	4. Wilbur the Prize Pig

"..and so, Charlotte's been writing the words she thinks will most impress the humans in her web, thinking that'll convince Mr. Zuckerman not to kill me," Wilbur finished explaining the whole story of the writing in the web to a visibly impressed Clem, "And so far, it seems to be working; Mr. Zuckerman seems to think I really am special now."

"Why 'radiant?'" Clem was curious, "I mean, it's a good word to use, but I'm surprised she'd choose that..."

"She felt that fit the best out of numerous possibilities Templeton brought her," Wilbur chuckled softly, "It's funny, really, watching him work himself into a tither over being made to do it; he's usually a major grump, so it's amusing seeing him forced into helping us with..."

He stopped at the sound of a doorbell ringing above. "Hiram, glad you could come," Barrens' voice rang out once the door opened, "It's all set; the pig's down in the basement now."

"And you're sure it's Zuckerman's Famous Pig?"

"Sure as rain. Come on down and see for yourself," Barrens told him. Moments later, the door swung open, blinding Wilbur momentarily. Footsteps descended the stairs and stopped in front of his case. "THAT'S Zuckerman's Famous Pig?" the newcomer sounded skeptical. Wilbur looked up to see himself being examined by a slimy-looking mustached man in a loud plaid suit. "Nothing looks special about this one," this man shook his head, "You sure you saw it yourself with...?"

"Saw the words in the web myself; this is him, Hiram. I was expecting more too, but this is the real deal. Allow me to introduce you, my little gold mine, to Mr. Hiram Hucks, my good personal friend," Barrens bent down to Wilbur's level with a grin, "Consider him your new stepdaddy out on the road-if of course the deal's still good," he turned to Hucks.

"Well, if this is the pig in question, I guess the deal's good, J.L.," Hucks dug a large amount of money out of his wallet and handed it to the farmer, "A thousand up front here, another ten thousand after he's touring."

"Great, great," Barrens eagerly flicked his fingers through the stack of money. "Mr. Hucks here runs a traveling sideshow of the exotic and unique," he told Wilbur, "And you, my friend, are going to be his prize attraction. You're going to be touring the whole country-and making me a whole lot of money as your benefactor," he rubbed his fingers eagerly. "Now remember, Hiram, I get sixty percent of all the profits," he reminded the promoter.

"I guess so, J.L.," Hucks nodded, not looking totally satisfied with this agreement, "Now I have to figure out how to replicate the words in the web," he frowned, "Unless we can get an actual spider that writes..."

"Oh use your head, Hiram; you've compromised with plenty of your attractions over the years," Barrens rolled his eyes, "You're daughter's good at arts and all that stuff, right? Have her make a fake web and letters, or something like that, then set it up at each location your show stops at. All you have to do is make sure no one can tell it's not a real web and real writing."

"Well, I..."

"It's not difficult, Hiram; Homer obviously faked it at his farm, so you're just doing the same with this hog on your end, for profit."

"Well, guess you're right, J.L.," Hucks' smile returned, "Having Zuckerman's Famous Pig'll be a huge boon for the collection. When do you want me to pick him up?"

"Tonight if you humanly can, Hiram; I want him on the road quick in case Homer realizes he's got a fake pig in his barn now."

"OK then, we're finishing up a show over in Brooksville today. I'll have the crew send over a truck once we're ready. You're going to see the world, little guy," Hucks told Wilbur gleefully, "By this time tomorrow, you'll be on display in Los Angeles, making me a fortune."

"Just be careful how you promote him at first, Hiram," Barrens advised him, "For now, we're going to call him the Real Some Pig as a jab to Homer, and to avoid complications should he sue. I'm inviting my lawyer over here later today; we're going to make sure this is a legal as we can make it. Once Homer gives up and realizes I've got him beat, we'll change the advertising to Barrens' Famous Pig. Run the show with him until he's too old to perform, then send him back here and I'll process him; we'll celebrate with a ham meal, and then you can pick another of my pigs to use as the new..."

There came a loud growl of disgust from Clem, who leaped to his feet and started barking at his master. "What's your problem, you worthless mutt!? Shut your filthy trap!" Barrens snarled at Clem, swinging a kick at the dog that just missed. "Good for nothing runt; I have no use for him, so I keep him chained up down here. Hopefully he'll earn his redemption guarding our pig for us," he told Hucks, "Anyway, come on upstairs and we'll iron out the fine details of our arrangement."

"I want to thank you again for this, J.L.; this is going to be a big addition to..." Hucks continued commending him as they walked away. Wilbur gulped nervously at what seemed to be his fate. "Clem," he turned to the dog again, "Where's Los Angeles?"

"I don't know, but it's really, really far away from here," Clem muttered, "If you go there, and out on the road, you'll probably never come back this way again..."

"But I don't want to go on the road!" Wilbur cried, "I want to go home to Mr. Zuckerman and Fern and Charlotte and the others! I want to...!"

"Shhh!" Clem hissed at him. The dog rose back to his feet. "You belong back there at Zuckerman's, yes," he agreed, glancing around, "Sit tight; I'll see if I can find a way to get you out of here."

"Hurry, Clem; if they're coming for me tonight," Wilbur glanced nervously at the window on the far wall, through which morning light was streaming, "We're already running out of time fast...!"

* * *

"Can we stop for a rest, Charlotte?" the gander called up to her on her perch atop the old sheep's horns, in between which she had by now spun a rudimentary web, "We've been going for at least four hours now."

"I suppose we can take a break," Charlotte concurred, prompting her transport to come to a stop in the middle of the wooded ravine the group had been marching through and sink down to her knees. "Good timing," she conferred with the spider, leaning towards the small brook that was flowing nearby for a drink, "I was getting a little tired out myself."

"Are we still going in the right direction?"

"We turned west onto the highway, and near as I can tell, we've kept going that way all this time."

"And how far do you think we've traveled?"

"About a mile and a half, I'm guessing. By now, Mr. Zuckerman will probably have woken up and realized we're missing..."

"I know, and I hope he'll go in other directions to look for you first," Charlotte mused, turning to watch the geese congregating together on the banks of the brook. "All right children, line up and announce that you're here when I call your name-ame-ame," the goose told them, "Samuel..."

"Bee-bee-bee!" the largest gosling declared.

"A simple 'here' will suffice," his mother raised her eyebrows, "Clara..."

"Here-here-here," the second largest spoke up. The goose sighed in resignation. "Stanley..."

"Here-here-here."

"Marion..."

"Here-here-here."

"Albert..."

"Here-here-here..."

"Lillian..."

"Here-here-here."

"Jeffrey...Jeffrey, are you here-ere-ere?" his mother looked around, not seeing him.

"Wait, he's back there with Templeton," Charlotte pointed to the ferns behind them, where the youngest gosling was waddling alongside a disgusted and fed-up looking Templeton. "...tell me, really, how far do all your tunnels go?" he was eagerly peppering the rat with what Charlotte assumed was only the latest of a series of questions, "And can I come in some time and see where they go...?"

"Look, kid, for the last time, stop bothering me!" Templeton snapped, coming to a stop and raising a claw high as a warning, "Because as Mommy and Daddy probably told you, I don't take well to young geese who torment me mercilessly...!"

"And we also told him that we happily give a thrashing to rats who dare threaten our children-ildren-ildren!" the gander stepped forward and similarly raised a wing over the rat, making Templeton gulp and scurry out of the way. "Come along, Jeffrey, we're taking a rest now," he told his youngest child, gesturing with his wing at the brook, where the other goslings were happily swimming and splashing now.

"Are we close to Wilbur now, Father?" Jeffrey inquired, waddling after him.

"Well, we're closer than we were before, son, and that has to count for something. For now, go and enjoy yourself," the gander nudged his son towards the brook, then waddled over to the old sheep. "How much further-urther-urther, Charlotte?" he asked the expedition's leader, "I'm concerned we might not be able to keep the children content forever if this is a long journey."

"That's my concern too; if it's only been a mile and a half, we have over three quarters of the journey to go," Charlotte frowned, staring around the thick woods, "It would be better if we had some context. Templeton," she called to him from his current hiding place in the reeds.

"What now, Mother?" Templeton muttered sarcastically.

"We need to have an idea if we're going in the right direction. Climb up a tree and see if you can ascertain anything about where we are. After all, you've been further around these parts than any of us."

"Since you always talk the big talk about spiders being such great balloonists, why don't you go fly up and do it?" Templeton dared her, "You're always so great at giving the orders, why not try and follow...all right, all right!" he protested when the old sheep leaned furiously in his face and snorted, "There's no need to get pushy about it!" He scuttled out of the reeds, only to stop at the base of the nearest tree. "You know, you should ask yourself, Charlotte, why are you really doing this?" he asked her with narrowed eyebrows, "Wilbur's just one pig, and not a terribly impressive one at that. Why waste all your time and energy on him? Why go through what we're doing now and everything you've done before for one pig? Why bother when the odds of you really keeping him from being slaughtered are so low? And why bother when we know your time's almost up too? It won't be long now, and you and I both know it. And where's Wilbur going to be without you? I hope I get an answer to all this soon."

He scampered up the tree and out of sight. "If anyone on this farm deserves to be butchered by the boss, it's him," the old sheep muttered in disgust, bending down for another drink from the brook. "Still, she squinted up at Charlotte, "He does have a point, much as I hate to admit it: why?"

"Why? Why not?" Charlotte spoke up softly, lowering herself down in front of the old sheep's eyes, "There's just something about Wilbur that a spider-or anyone, really-just can't help liking. Maybe it's because he is the underdog in a sense. But, deep down, I really feel for him. I enjoy being his friend. I feel like I'm truly somebody to be able to look out for him like this. And I have to make absolutely sure he will be OK, that he won't have anything terrible happen to him, before..."

She couldn't finish. "Time moves too quickly," the old sheep remarked knowingly, staring with a melancholy gaze at the brook's bank, where Jeffrey, who notoriously did not like swimming as much as his siblings, was tossing a pebble like a football back and forth with his brothers and sisters in the water, "At my age, you're supposed to understand how life flows, that death and life are natural cycles, and that you're not supposed to get too attached. But to be honest, I've felt more attached to you, Wilbur, and everyone else in the barn this year than anyone else that's been here during my lifetime. Part of me wishes we could just freeze this moment in time forever. But we can't. In a matter of months, these goslings will be adult geese, shipped out to other farms-or to less savory places, if you know what I mean-and leave the innocence of moments like this behind forever. Fern'll be growing quickly too; I've seen the signs of it. Sooner or later, she's going to leave Wilbur behind, whether he's ready for it or not. And of course," she squinted at her passenger, "I know full well how long barn spiders live..."

"Yes," Charlotte sighed softly, "And although Wilbur doesn't know it, I mated last week when he was asleep-a passer-by in the fields. Soon," she stared at her abdomen, "it will be time. And when it's time for that, my time's up. So we've got to rescue Wilbur soon, so I can...so I can know for sure everything I did was worth something..."

The old sheep nodded again. "See anything up there, Templeton?" she called loudly up at the tree.

"It's all woods as far as I can see in every direction!" Templeton snarled down, "I can't even find Zuckerman's farm from here! Congratulations, General Charlotte; you've gotten us all hopelessly lost in less than a day! If I starve to death from this, I'm going to haunt you in the next life like you can't imagine!"

"You're not going to starve, Temp-oh, hold on a moment," Charlotte glanced up at her web between the old sheep's horns, into which a fly had blundered and was thrashing about. "Maybe we can get some information this way."

She climbed back up to the web and raced for the fly. "Now don't struggle, my dear; there's no point in delaying the inevitable," she told it, wrapping it up in silk, "But before I follow through on what we spiders do to flies like yourself, if you can help us, please do: which way to the J.L. Barrens farm?"

"Why should I tell you anything when you're going to eat me anyway?" the fly gasped in fear.

"Yes, I'm going to eventually eat you, but if you tell me anything that can help me and my friends here, I'll make this as humane a death for you as I can. Or, if you won't cooperate, I can be as painful and agonizing on you as I can," Charlotte opened her jaws right in the fly's face, "Now, the J.L. Barrens farm?"

"All right, all right!" the fly whimpered fearfully at the jaws inches from its face, "Keep going about four miles to the west, turn left at a big rock outcropping in the middle of the woods, then right at the big river. It's on the other side; you can't miss it with how dead the area is! But why would you want to go in there; everyone there would give anything to go out!"

"We have good reason, but you don't have to know," Charlotte delivered the knockout bite to the fly. "You got all that, right?" she asked the old sheep.

"Yes," her transporter nodded. "Should we just leave Templeton up there?" she glanced in disgust at the tree.

"No, we may still need him later on. At least we know we have been going in the right direction. Now let's pick up the pace; I'm sure Wilbur's on the clock at the moment as well..."


	5. An Escape Attempt

AUTHOR'S NOTE: All lyrics are trademarked by their respective copyright holders.

* * *

"I just don't understand it," a perplexed Mr. Zuckerman mumbled, staring at the sheep's pen, now minus its usual largest resident, "I could swear I built this fence big enough, Edith..."

"I thought you did too," his wife frowned down at the lambs, all bleating and gesturing towards the pigpen with their heads, "I don't know what's gotten into them either; it's almost if they're trying to tell us something."

"Almost. But of course, sheep don't think like us humans...Lurvy, any sign of them?" Mr. Zuckerman asked his approaching farmhand.

"Their tracks go right down to the highway and stop, Mr. Zuckerman. They could have gone any direction from there," Lurvy explained, wiping sweat from his brow, "I don't get it; why would they all leave in the middle of the night like this?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Lurvy," Mr. Zuckerman shrugged, confused, "I'll get on the line with the other farmers in the county and tell them to keep an eye out for them. I hope none of them have been..."

There came a blaring of a horn behind them. Mr. Zuckerman turned at the sight of the Arables' car pulling up nearby. "Ah, almost forgot they were all coming over for the day," he cracked a smile. "Morning, everyone," he greeted the Arables as they climbed out.

"Morning, Uncle Homer. Is something wrong?" Avery frowned, noticing the farmer's concerned look.

"Well, my biggest sheep and all my geese are gone. They just up and left in the middle of the night," Mr. Zuckerman gestured at the empty goose nest on the other side of the pigpen, "You didn't see them, did you?"

"No, we didn't," Mr. Arable shook his head, "Did you call the police?"

"I was going to call around to the other farms first, John. Maybe they went to one of them-I don't know. Maybe you can help me make the calls," Mr. Zuckerman led him and Mrs. Arable towards the farmhouse, leaving their children to remain at the barn. "Bet I can swing higher than you this time on the swing...what is it?" Avery asked his sister, noticing her staring intently at the doorway to Wilbur's pen.

"Oh nothing, it's just...Charlotte's not in her web..." Fern mused with a concerned expression. Avery sighed. "Sometimes I just can't understand the way your mind works," he protested, "I'll be on the swing when you're ready."

"I'll be along shortly," Fern dragged a stool over to the front of Wilbur's pen and sat down. "What's going on here, all of you?" she asked the animals as Avery walked away, shaking his head, "Where's Charlotte, and what happened to the others?"

"They're looking for Wilbur! Barrens has Wilbur!" the lambs cried as one, jerking their heads towards Sixtus.

"I don't quite understand," a confused Fern turned her gaze at the pig, "Wilbur's right here..."

"Not Wilbur! Sixtus!" bellowed the cows in the corner, "His name is Sixtus!"

"I'm not Zuckerman's Famous Pig," Sixtus approached her, "My old boss has him. Tell your uncle to look for him there."

"I don't...how can it be so?" Fern reached down and picked him up, "You look exactly like Wilbur...you feel like Wilbur...but you're saying you're not?"

"He's not!" shouted the horses, "Charlotte's gone to find him! Tell Mr. Zuckerman!"

"I don't...I'm not..." Fern stared deep into Sixtus's eyes. "I used to think the sum of one and one was two, but we have something more, me and you..." the familiar song from Wilbur's younger days left her lips. The pig frowned, clearly not recognizing the tune. "Something's not quite right here..." Fern mused with a deep frown, lowering the pig back into the pen. She rose up and dashed for the farmhouse. "Uncle Homer," she called to him, conversing with her parents in the front doorway, "Uncle Homer, I think something's wrong with the pig."

"Wrong?" Mr. Zuckerman frowned in concern, "Is he sick? Is he...?"

"No, he's not sick. It's just...I'm not sure if it's Wilbur that's in there."

"Huh?" Mr. Zuckerman frowned, "What are you saying? He looks exactly like Wilbur to me."

"He didn't recognize our special song from when he was younger, Uncle Homer. Wilbur always recognized it. And the other animals seemed to be trying to tell me that it wasn't Wilbur, that it..."

"Now Fern, please, let's not go through this again," her mother cut in sternly, "We've humored you with this whole talking animal routine for long enough. Perhaps it's time for you to see the world through reality, that animals cannot speak."

"But Mama, I swear I can hear something! So Wilbur might be in some sort of trouble if...!"

"Fern, that's enough," her father cut her off with a frown, "Wilbur's just fine in there, as you can see," he gestured at Sixtus in the pen, "Now run along and play with your brother, and let's not hear any more of this today."

"But I...yes, Papa," Fern sighed in resignation when he gave her a small glare and walked towards the barn. "I just don't understand her sometimes," her father shook his head, "Ever since I let her talk me into sparing that pig, she's been acting strange."

"She'll grow out of it," Mrs. Arable took his hand, "Although," she shot a concerned glance at her departing daughter, "Perhaps next time I'd better arrange a direct appointment with Dr. Dorian with her. Maybe he can talk some sense into her."

"Still," Mr. Arable's glance went to the pigpen, "Are you sure we shouldn't check on the pig...?"

"He's perfectly fine, John. It's the other animals I'm worried about," Mr. Zuckerman told him, shaking his own head, "They were all acting crazy last night for no good reason. "Thank goodness nothing did happen to Wilbur, though. He's becoming my favorite animal here. I don't know what I'd do if anything did happen to him..."

* * *

"Just a little further...!" Wilbur pleaded with Clem, straining to get to the front of the cage.

"Can't...go...further...sorry!" Clem gasped, having reached the limit of the chain holding him to the post. The dog took a few steps backwards, gasping for air. "OK, we'll have to lever that latch open, then," he mused, glancing around the basement, "Look around for a lever and a fulcrum of some kind."

"What's a lever and a fulcrum?" Wilbur frowned.

"Never mind, I think I see what we can use," Clem bustled off towards the back wall. He grabbed a large pipe in his teeth and dragged it forward to the chain limit, then did the same with a box labeled BLASTING POWDER: HANDLE WITH CARE. "All right, stand back," he instructed Wilbur, laying the pipe down atop the box, "I'm going to try and lift the latch up for you here-and hope we don't do this too loudly so Mr. Barrens hears..."

He maneuvered the pipe under the latch, then jumped on the opposite end. The latch popped up with a low clacking sound. Clem paused hesitantly, but it appeared no one above had heard the sound. "All right, come on out, quietly," he told Wilbur. The pig nudged the cage door open and walked out to freedom. "Now what?" he asked the dog.

"It looks like the only way out is through the window," Clem gestured at the small window high above them, just big enough for a small pig to fit through, "You'll have to find something to break it with, though-this might do," he galloped off to the side again to fetch a large flowerpot. "All right," he pressed it into Wilbur's mouth, "Listen close. I don't think we'll be able to do this without someone hearing. So once you break that window, just run as fast as you can."

"But where am...?" Wilbur spat out the flowerpot, which had been muffling his words, "Where am I running to after I'm out, Clem?"

"Well," Clem thought hard, "I'm not as familiar as I could be with the farm, but I know the main gate is about a half mile down the road that way," he gestured with his paw towards its general direction, "Find the main road-you'll probably have to go to your right around some buildings, but you can't miss it. But don't leave through the main gate; there's guards and dogs posted there. Find a place before that to crawl or dig under the fence, but try not to avoid the barbed wire as best you can..."

"Barbed wire?" Wilbur shuddered at the mere thought, "Why is Mr. Barrens so bent on making his farm a fortress?"

"There are some things about humans I can't understand, and Mr. Barrens' mindset is one of them," Clem shook his head, "He's always been a very paranoid and jealous man; I guess he relishes being the wealthiest and most important farmer in the county, and thinks all the other farmers will pass him by if they know his farming secrets. He probably sees everything going on with you and Homer Zuckerman as a direct threat to him. But enough about this: go now, while you can. Up those crates to the ledge, carefully and quietly," he gestured at some boxes stacked advantageously by the window.

"OK," Wilbur grabbed the flowerpot in his mouth again and cautiously climbed up the boxes. They groaned and rattled, but managed to hold his weight, and did not alert anyone above in the farmhouse that something was afoot downstairs. Wilbur reached the window and peered outside. Gray fields, with giant mechanical tractors lumbering through them, could be seen in the distance, beyond several cold gray concrete buildings closer to the farmhouse. A horn blaring made him turn to his right and see a truck slowly turning off towards a large barn. The main road, he realized, and his ticket to freedom, if he could get there without being noticed. Taking a deep breath, he reared his head back and tossed the flowerpot through the window, which shattered loudly, leaving a hole just big enough to jump through. "Goodbye, Clem, and thank you," he commended the dog.

"Go, quick!" Clem hissed at him, right as Barrens could be heard shouting, "What's going on down there!?" out loud from the main farmhouse floor. Wilbur turned and dashed blindly for the road. Unfortunately, however, he had already been seen by farm workers in the nearest field. "Hey, stop that pig!" one of them shouted. More loud shouts-and the pounding of footsteps rang out behind him. Wilbur dared not look back, racing towards the road, but coming to a stop to see more men rushing towards him in that direction. He pivoted and charged diagonally towards the chicken coops, wondering how he could shake these men...

...but got an answer when he turned the corner and found thick bushes alongside the building on the far side. Taking a quick look backwards to check the men had not turned the corner and thus were blind to him, he dove into the bushes and squatted down. Footsteps thundered outside the shield of leaves. "Which way did he go!?" a man shouted.

"He's got to be around here somewhere! Get the dogs out; Mr. Barrens made it clear that pig's not to get out of here!" another ordered. The men charged away. Wilbur waited until their footsteps had faded away before sticking his head out. No one was around now. He glanced to his right. There was the fence, about five hundred yards away, and behind it, deep woods. If he could just get there, he'd probably be all but home free, he reasoned. With another deep breath, he rushed for the fence, faster than he'd ever run in his life. And in seconds, he'd shot across the road and was about to jump through an opening in the wire...

...when suddenly, right before he reached the fence, something rushed him from the side and knocked him down hard. "Going somewhere, little pig!?" snarled an angry-looking giant black dog, who promptly pinned Wilbur down to the ground and held him down. "The boss made it clear to us you don't leave this farm until it's time for you to go on the road...!"

"Let me go! I don't belong here!" Wilbur protested, trying unsuccessfully to squirm out of the dog's grasp.

"Oh yes you do!" the dog growled, "Right boys?" he glanced around at close to a dozen other large dogs that were converging on the area, barking ominously.

"You said it," one of the new dogs agreed, glaring down at Wilbur, "You're Barrens' Famous Pig now, and you'd better learn to accept it, pig."

"There he is!" came Butch's unwelcome voice from behind them. The foreman's hands hauled Wilbur up in the air. "Good work, boy," he rubbed the lead dog on the head. "Let's go, you little escape artist," he told Wilbur coldly, carrying him back towards the farmhouse, the lead dog and a half dozen of the other dogs trailing behind, as if making sure Wilbur would not escape again. Wilbur's heart sank. This had probably been his only chance at escaping on his own.

"You've got him, Butch!?" Barrens called from his porch ahead of them.

"Right here, Mr. Barrens; the dogs caught him before he could slip the fence," Butch explained, hopping up the steps.

"Give me him!" Barrens snatched Wilbur out of his employees' hands. "Thought you could cheat me out of what I've earned by escaping from me!?" he shouted angrily in the pig's face, "It's back to solitary for you, my little gold mine-and for this miserable attempt, you get no food until you're on the road!"

He stomped furiously across the kitchen and down the stairs into the basement. Clem, having jerked upright at the sound of the door swinging open, slumped to the floor sadly to see the escape attempt had not worked. "Get back in there!" Barrens flung Wilbur back into the case, slammed the lock shut, and tossed a pair of heavy concrete blocks against the door, essentially trapping Wilbur inside. "Let's see you try to get out now!" he dared the pig. "Butch, fetch a set of bars and weld them to this window!" he shouted up the stairs to his foreman, "I want this basement absolutely airtight from now on!"

"You've got it, Mr. Barrens," Butch called back down. "And you're a miserable failure!" Barrens upbraided Clem next, as Wilbur could just make out around the blocks blocking the door, "I ask you to keep an eye on this pig, and you can't even do that, you worthless mutt! Well no food or water for you either!" he snatched Clem's food and water bowls off the floor and tossed them roughly into the corner, well out of the dog's reach, "Maybe that'll learn you a lesson to obey orders around here!"

He stomped back up the stairs, shouting to his foreman, "Butch, make sure someone keeps an eye on that window from this point on until...!" before he was cut off by the door slamming shut, which also plunged the basement back into total darkness. Wilbur slid slowly to the floor. "I was just about out of here, Clem," he confided to his cellmate, "I was this close..."

"I'm sure you did. The other dogs are just too good at their jobs. I'm sorry, Wilbur, I really am," Clem told the pig, "I wish there was something else we could do. But I can't think of anything else."

"Well," Wilbur mused softly, "I can only hope either Fern figures out that's not me in the barn, or Charlotte comes here for me..."

"You and that spider again," Clem sounded dubious, "What can a spider possibly do about this?"


	6. Charlotte's Flight

"This must be it, the big rock outcropping," Charlotte declared, staring up at the wall of rock looming above them in the woods from her perch atop the old sheep's horn, "So I presume we make a left here and continue to the river."

"Well I'm not climbing up there, and that's that," Templeton snorted from the rear.

"I'll take a look up top for us," the gander fluttered up the ledges little by little in the short, hopping bursts of flight geese are known for until he'd reached the top of the wall. "Well, what do you see?" the goose called up to him, bustling forward and pushing a few of her children back down when they attempted to start climbing the rock wall themselves, "Can you see Barrens' farm-arm-arm?"

"No, but I can see some black smoke in the distance, and I can just make out the river-iver-iver," the gander called back down, "So we're getting closer."

"How far to the river, by your best guess?" Charlotte inquired.

"My own guess would be about two miles or two," the gander fluttered back down ledge by ledge, "So my estimate is, assuming we take one more break, we should get there just before sundown-undown-undown."

"Just so there's food by the river," one of the goslings complained, "We're starting to get a bit hungry-ungry-ungry after only having those stray seeds this morning."

"We all are," its siblings added in unison with low honks.

"I understand, children, but that was a risk we knew we would have to take for Wilbur's sake," their mother told them, "Rest assured that when we find..."

"Quiet, shut up a minute," Templeton cut in, his eyes darting nervously around the woods, "I smell a cat somewhere around here."

"Oh, Templeton's scared of a big bad cat," one of the goslings teased him.

"I'm not scared, you little appetizer, I'm just a very careful rat. And this smells like a big cat-a really big one..."

"Hmm," the old sheep sniffed the air, then frowned, "There seems to be something out there. I can't quite place it, but then again, I'm in a setting where I don't..."

Suddenly, a loud growl rang out above them. "LOOK OUT!" Charlotte gave a loud cry as a large cougar leaped down from the top of the rock wall towards them, its jaws open wide. The animals scattered in all directions. "Don't run away! You can't escape!" the cougar shouted coldly, leaping towards the gander and just missing.

"Run, children, and stay close...Jeffrey, no!" the goose cried to her youngest, who stepped defiantly towards the cougar and started letting out what sounded like a mix between a dog's bark and a pig's oink, apparently trying to scare the big cat away. Laughing, the cougar crouched down to prepare to spring at the gosling, but the old sheep charged forward and rammed it hard with her horns before it could leap, sending it tumbling backwards. "Come on!" she shouted, racing down a trail ahead of them.

"And stay close like I said!" the goose snatched Jeffrey up in her beak and fluttered away, pausing only to similarly snatch up the rest of her children that the gander hadn't already grabbed himself.

"Rats first, rats first!" a panicked Templeton took off like a shot right behind the old sheep, who tore down the hill ahead of them like a flash...

...only to come to a grinding stop at the bottom. For they were now at the bottom of a steep gully, with another large rock wall, one that rose dozens of feet above them, looming over them, and very steep banks on either side that would have been impossible for them to climb. "Great, a dead end!" the old sheep lamented, looking around desperately for a way out.

"Dead end for you indeed! Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide!" the cougar snarled, advancing quickly towards them, "Don't make this hard for me...!"

"Wait, stop! If you kill us, another life will be just as good as snuffed out!" Charlotte tried to reason with him, "Do you really want that on your soul!?"

"I don't take orders from spiders! And right now, I'm very hungry, which trumps everything else!" the cougar brushed her off, leaning back into a crouch position again.

"Pleeeeeeease don't eat me!" Templeton pathetically begged him, hiding behind the other animals, "We rats don't digest well! Take the rest of them, just please don't...!"

"TEMPLETON!" the others glared him down. With a roar, the cougar sprung towards them...

...when suddenly, an object streaked through the air and plowed into his side, sending him flying sideways with a yelp. "These travelers aren't part of the natural food chain in these woods!" snapped a large eagle, who came to a landing atop a ledge on the side of the gully and glared the cougar down, "So leave them be!"

"You keep out of this! This does not concern you!" the cougar leaped towards the eagle, but it was perched out of its reach.

"Violations of the natural order like this IS my business!" the eagle jumped to his right, grabbed a large rock in his talons, took flight, and dropped it onto the cougar's head with a loud thud. Moaning in agony, the cougar stumbled backwards awake from its potential victims, then yelped again as the eagle swooped down and drove its beak into the big cat's rear end. "Now be gone!" he ordered.

"You'll pay for this!" the cougar dazedly threatened him, but nonetheless stumbled away and out of sight. The eagle fluttered down towards the farm animals. "That was a close one," he mused out loud, "Are all of you OK?"

"Is it over yet!?" Templeton whimpered, quaking against the rock face with his claws over his eyes, having missed the entire encounter.

"Yes, Templeton, it's over, no thanks to you," the goose mumbled with a roll of her eyes, pecking him hard on the rump with her beak to get him to look up. "Many thanks, good sir," she thanked the eagle.

"It's only right that those of us like yourselves that aren't part of the natural balance of these woods not get caught up into the cycle of life and death here. Or so I'd like to believe," the eagle glanced the party down, "But what's a group of domestics like all of you doing this deep in the woods anyway?"

"We're on our way to help a friend," Charlotte spoke up, "Have you and the other wild animals here in these woods heard of Zuckerman's Famous Pig?"

"Indeed we have," the eagle nodded, "And what we heard...hold on," he leaned towards the spider, "Those words that appear in the web...are you the one that writes them, by chance?"

"If you can keep a secret from the humans, yes I do. Charlotte A. Cavatica," she extended one of her legs towards him.

"Pleasure to meet you, then," the eagle gently shook it in his beak, "Orville H.L. Aviatorus, at your service. So, you were saying...?"

"Zuckerman's Famous Pig is in trouble," the old sheep spoke up, "He was pignapped by J.L. Barrens last night, and we think he's going to be shipped far away from here if we don't get him out and back to Zuckerman's farm. We were on our way there when that big cat cut us off."

"You'll have to excuse him; he has no regard for maintaining the natural order of things," Orville rolled his eyes, "Eats whatever he wants whenever he wants. It's up to the rest of us to at least try and keep him and those like him in line around here. But anyway, pignapped?" he frowned.

"Yes, I'm sorry to say. So any help you might be able to give us, we'd appreciate it," Charlotte told him.

"Hmm, you really want to go to J.L. Barrens's farm?" Orville frowned, "That's as big a suicide mission as any endeavor can be for creatures like us. No one ever sneaks in there, let alone sneaks back out."

"We have to. We can't lose Wilbur," Jeffrey lamented, "He's my best friend."

"He's good friends with all of us," the other goslings added, nodding in unison.

"So, any help you can give, please do," the gander told the eagle.

"I don't know," Orville seemed uncertain, "I appreciate what you all seem to be doing for that pig, but is it the right thing to do to prolong his life? I know what pigs and other domestics are bred for; it would seem against the natural order of life to..."

"Orville, I appreciate your concern for keeping everything running naturally," Charlotte leaned forward on the old sheep's horn, "But if you knew Wilbur, you'd realize he really is special, with or without words forming in a web in his pen. If anyone deserves a good life, especially after what he almost went through after his birth, it's him. And isn't helping the innocent part of maintaining a just world? As I'm sure it would be for any other animals that might be languishing on Barrens' farm at the moment. If it's a reward you might want, I'd be willing to examine any possibility for you."

"Well...very well, you talked me into it," Orville agreed, looking a little hesitant, but nonetheless nodding firmly now, "What do you want me to do?"

"Take me to Barrens' farm," Charlotte dove through the air, letting out a line of silk behind her as a parachute, and landed on Orville's beak, "I'd like to know the specific layout of the farm, as well as ascertain Wilbur's location, before we move ahead and get him out. Templeton, I want you to come along too in case I need you," she ordered the rat.

"Not on your life, oh high and mighty Charlotte," Templeton shook his head firmly, "I'm not going into that deathtrap of a place even with compensation! And besides, I'm allergic to extreme heights! You get me up as high as this type of bird's known to go, and...!"

With a loud honk, the gander shoved Templeton forward hard with his beak, sending the rat rolling onto Orville's back. "He'd be glad to go no matter-atter-atter what he says," he told the eagle firmly. "What should the rest of us do, Charlotte?" he asked the spider.

"Which way to the river near Barrens' farm?" Charlotte in turn asked Orville.

"Two more miles to the northwest," Orville gestured with a talon, "Keep going that way, and you can't miss it."

"Continue that way," Charlotte told the rest of the party, "We'll meet there when I'm done with this reconnaissance. All right, take us up," she told Orville, who spread his wings in preparation for takeoff-but then gained an extra passenger when Jeffrey rushed forward and leaped onto the eagle's back next to Templeton. "Jeffrey, get back here this very-ery-ery instant!" his mother shouted, running after him.

"I've got to know Wilbur's OK, Mother!" Jeffrey called back to her, grabbing hold of Orville's feathers with his beak as the eagle took off into the sky. The goose and gander both tried to fly after him, but they proved unable to get more than a few feet off the ground. "Come back here, you little troublemaker-oublemaker-oublemaker!" the gander bellowed worriedly after him.

"Don't worry, Father, I'll be just fine, I promise!" his youngest child cried back to him. He then exhaled and nuzzled down snugly on Orville's back. "So this is what all those birds we see flying up in the sky see," he remarked, staring with awe at the ground, now well below them.

"Just shut up about heights, kid!" Templeton wailed, his eyes squinted tightly shut, "Why did I ever let myself get talked into this...!?"

"Oh come, Templeton, this is fun!" the gosling countered, flapping his own wings in imitation of Orville.

"I wish you hadn't come along, Jeffrey. Barrens' farm is probably a dangerous place for a young gosling," Charlotte chided him, climbing up to the top of Orville's head, "Still, I do appreciate that you care for Wilbur that much, and perhaps you'll be useful for us."

"True; better he gets sacrificed than me!" Templeton cracked, still not looking up. Charlotte ignored the rat. "Fly me to the farm," she instructed Orville, "But don't be conspicuous about it...

* * *

"...and so I ran upstairs in a flash and jumped into Avery's bed, scaring him half to death," Wilbur related an earlier life story to Clem, "The Arables were upset I'd gotten in the house then, but a few days later, most of them were laughing about it."

"No harm done, after all," Clem agreed. "It must have been hard to have left the Arables' farm."

"At first, yes," Wilbur nodded, "Fortunately, everyone else at Zuckerman's farm took me in with open arms, and at least Fern gets to come over at regular intervals. Part of me wishes it could stay like it is now forever..."

He sighed softly. "At least you had it good," Clem lamented, "I've known isolation, starvation, you name it. Barrens takes all the puppies here away from their mothers early and trains them to be brutes, guard dogs. Those that don't make the cut either end up like me, chained up and as good as dead, or shipped out to who knows where. What I wouldn't have given to have been born on either the Arables' or the Zuckermans' farm. And really, what's the point of life if it ends like this, with no hope and no meaning...?" he glanced forlornly at the window, now sealed off with bars.

"Oh you mustn't think that, Clem," Wilbur encouraged the dog, "I thought that way after I learned what usually happens to pigs on farms. But Charlotte's made me realize there's so much to look forward to even in the..."

He trailed off at the sound of the door opening upstairs. "Archie, glad you could make it on such short notice," Barrens welcomed a new visitor.

"Let me just say, J.L., that I have some reservations about doing this," the new man said gravely. "Pignapping has to be considered a major offense around here, especially with this pig, and if word gets out that I'm helping you with your scheme here, I'll be disbarred in a flash. You know that, right?"

"Don't worry, Archie, I know you're a good enough lawyer to be able to get both of us out of a fix. And the sheriff won't look at something that I tell him not to look at. Have a seat," Barrens told his guest, "OK, I called you because I'd like to have legal cover in case Homer does figure anything out. I'd like you to draw up documents that will make it look like he signed the pig legally over to me-backdate it to yesterday, which was when I talked with him last. That way, it'll be his word against mine that he agreed to sell me the pig, and they'll always believe me over him. I've got some copies of his handwriting from a few earlier agreements I've signed with him over the years; reconstruct his signature on the form as best you can."

"You're asking a lot here, J.L..."

"And I trust you for this, Archie. And I'll pay you five thousand extra to do the job right."

"Well, for five thousand, OK," the crooked lawyer agreed, "But I hope you have a good plan to get that pig out of here quick, J.L..."

"Already on it, Archie. I just inked the deal with Hiram Hucks to take the swine on the road earlier today. He'll be sending his crew over with a truck they rented from the fish market in town. That way, it'll look like I'm just taking a regular delivery from them. By this time tomorrow, Barrens' Famous Pig, as he'll now be legally known after Homer gives up, will be safely on a plane to Los Angeles, ready to reap in the big bucks for me-and I'll make a cut for you too, Archie."

"Just don't do this too obviously, J.L.; I value my law license."

"You worry too much. It's three o'clock now; the pig'll be out of here in less than six hours, with no one ever the wiser..."

"Six hours," Wilbur mused grimly, staring at the bright afternoon light shining through the barred window, "If you're coming, Charlotte, please hurry..."

"You and that spider again," Clem mumbled, depressed, "What can a spider possibly do to help you now? What can anyone do now...?"


	7. Friends Reunited

"Here we are, J.L. Barrens' farm," Orville announced to his passengers, grimly winging over the tall gate to the farm, "Abandon all hope ye who enter, so say the domestics I've spoken to from here."

"It does seem a bit drab and depressed," Charlotte commented, staring down at fields of wheat and corn that, despite stretching on for what seems liked miles, all seemed to emanate grayness and decay. Giant reapers rumbled through the fields harvesting the crops, clanking loudly and belching out thick black smoke. Plows hitched to depressed, weary horses were pulled through the dirt on the edges of the fields, the drivers whipping the horses liberally at each step. "This may be bigger than Mr. Zuckerman's farm, but it's all soulless here," she mumbled grimly.

"Where do you think we'll find Wilbur, Charlotte?" Jeffrey asked, scanning the farm below.

"I don't know, Jeffrey, but we'll probably get our answers from the other farm residents, if we can communicate with them without getting caught or chased out. Do you by chance know where the pig barn is on this property?" Charlotte asked Orville.

"Unfortunately no. Animals don't linger around here longer than they need to," Orville shook his head.

"Just land, please! I can't stand it up here any longer!" Templeton wailed, still covering his eyes. Chuckling softly under his breath, Orville winged towards the large complex of barns visible near the main farmhouse. "Looks like the cows are in there," he told his guests, dipping his head towards one barn with open doors.

"That will do for a first stop. Take us there," Charlotte told him. The eagle obligingly swooped down and flew into the barn. Numerous cows stood glumly in lines with depressed expressions, absent-mindedly chewing on hay. Orville landed on the divider between a pair of stalls separating two Holsteins. "Pardon us, ladies," he greeted the two sad-looking cows on either side of him, "We're looking for the pig barn, if you know where that is."

"Two barns over on your left. Why?" mumbled the cow on his right.

"We're looking for a pig we know well that we believe your boss took from our farm last night. So anything you might know would be appreciated," Charlotte said.

"Pig? You know, the hired hands who came to milk us this morning said something about Mr. Barrens getting a new pig," the cow on the left spoke up.

"Did he say where he took that pig?"

"No, he didn't."

"Well, thank you anyway. The pig barn then, Orville," the spider instructed her transport. Orville took off out the door and circled over to the second barn on the left, perching on an open window. "Wilbur?" Jeffrey called out hopefully to the seemingly thousands of pigs in small, cramped stalls along the length of the barn, "Wilbur are you in here?"

"Who's Wilbur?" one of the pigs below them looked up, annoyed, "Round these parts, we pigs answer to numbers, not proper names."

"Wilbur, good sir, is a friend of ours," Charlotte disembarked from Orville and lowered herself down on a strand of silk until she was right in front of the pig's face, "He was replaced with a pig from this barn, Six Nine Four Eight Five, I believe it was. Were any new pigs brought into this barn today?"

"Nope," another pig in the stall rose to its feet, "But Six Nine Four Eight Five was two stalls down from here. The foreman took him yesterday afternoon, and we haven't seen him since."

"I see," Charlotte climbed back up the strand of silk and crawled along the railing down to the stall in question. "Hmm," she squinted down the dozen or so pigs crammed into the too-small stall, "It doesn't appear Wilbur's down there..."

"Nope, he's not down there," Jeffrey shook his head, having waddled after her, "Do you see him anywhere in here, Templeton?" he called back to the rat.

"No, no sign of him," Templeton called disinterestedly back, giving only a brief glance at the stalls, "And I'm not wasting my time searching all over this farm for him, so you and our fearless leader here better find him quick if you want me to stay here."

"Who's this Wilbur?" one of the pigs in the new stall looked up, "Isn't that the name of Zuckerman's Famous Pig?"

"It is indeed. Do you have any idea where on this farm he could be?" Charlotte inquired.

"No, and wherever he is, I hope he's better off than we are," a second pig lamented, slumping its head against the side of the stall, "We're all overcrowded and underfed here, and taken away to never come back too soon. And it's the same for the other animals around here; they're either starved into submission or worked to death. What good is life anymore?"

"Well, I sympathize with your plight. After I find my friend, I'd like to..."

"Humans coming, humans coming!" Orville crowed out a warning, jumping behind a thick wooden barn support column and pulling Templeton back with him before the rat could protest. "Hide, quick," Charlotte instructed Jeffrey, gesturing for the gosling to hide behind another post before crawling down under the railing herself. "OK, we need twenty-five to send the plant tonight, Butch, it doesn't matter which twenty-five," Barrens' voice rang out.

"OK, this one...this one...this one..." Butch started randomly selecting pigs for the slaughterhouse. He approached the pen the spider was hiding in. "This one..." he laconically gestured at a sow suckling its piglets. Two more farm workers threw the gate open and thrust wire collars around the sow's neck. "No, no, I don't want to go!" she protested, trying to pull away, "Don't take me from my children!"

"Momma, Momma, don't go!" the piglets cried as one, trying to rush after her. "Get back in there, you swine!" Barrens stepped into their path and swung a hard kick at them to get them to retreat. When several continued to try and push past him, he angrily grabbed a whip off the wall and started cracking it hard, making Charlotte wince in discomfort from her hiding place. "Get back in here, I said!" the farmer ordered the whimpering piglets, "You don't need your mother to nurse, see!?" he pressed a button that lowered a mechanical milk dispenser from the ceiling, "Now drink up like you were!"

The piglets were too busy crying to bother. The other pigs in the stall sighed with grim resignation. Barrens pushed the pen's door shut and moved on down the line, swinging kicks at some of the trailing pigs that had been selected. Once he was out of sight, Charlotte crawled back up and behind the post, where Jeffrey was quivering in fear. "It's all right, Jeffrey, he's gone," she assured the gosling.

"He just took their mother away from them just like that," Jeffrey whimpered, "How can anyone be so mean!? Would Mr. Zuckerman ever...!?"

"No, no, don't you worry about that. Mr. Zuckerman would never take away your parents from you and your brothers and sisters. Things are just so much different here," Charlotte glanced out the window, where one of the pigs, having been herded towards a large open truck with BARRENS FARMS emblazoned on the sides, squealed and ran sideways towards the nearest kennels. Growling, the dogs leaped towards him with their teeth barred. "Don't look, don't look," Charlotte nudged Jeffrey to turn away as angry canid snaps rang out.

"Gruesome, isn't it?" Orville landed next to them, sighing sadly, "I guess he decided that death on his own terms was better than what he was destined for."

"I suppose so. And I suppose he's not the only one around here who's made that decision. And speaking of decisions, I've made one too," Charlotte took a deep breath, "Seeing all of this, I've decided we're not just rescuing Wilbur. We're going to get as many other animals out of here that we can."

"Oh come on!" Templeton protested, scurrying along the railing towards her, "It's never enough for you, is it!? First Wilbur, now the whole farm; soon you'll be emptying every zoo in the country before I know it...!"

"Templeton, there comes a time and place where one must do the maximum good one can, and this is it. Now, if we can find Wilbur, as he is nonetheless priority number one..." the spider scanned around the farm for any clues to her friend's location.

"Telephone's ringing," Orville pointed with a talon towards the farmhouse, which Barrens was now walking towards, "Maybe he'll say something important."

"OK, take us over there, discreetly," Charlotte climbed up on his back and gestured for Jeffrey to do the same.

"You fly over there; I'll walk," Templeton muttered, climbing out the window, "I've had enough flying for a lifetime, Miss Cadavera."

"It's Cavatica," Charlotte frowned after him.

"Well it'll be Cadavera anyway real soon, and you and I both know it," the rat popped his head back up with a scowl, "And maybe it's time to let Wilbur in on that cold hard fact, if you've got the courage to do it."

He disappeared from sight again. Sighing, Charlotte held on tight to Orville as the eagle flew over and perched on the section of the roof overhanging the kitchen, landing right as Barrens picked up the phone inside. "Hello? Homer...?" he gasped, then quickly recovered with, "Oh, sorry, Homer; I wasn't expecting it to be you. I'm kind of waiting for another call now, so I hope you can make this quick...what? Missing sheep and geese? Nope, haven't seen them. Why don't you check with some other farms in the area? I see. Well, if I see them, I'll let you know...tell you what, Homer, I'm getting another call right now; call you back soon; if you don't find them, you can have some of my sheep and geese to compensate."

He could be heard pushing down on the cradle to connect to another call before continuing, "Hello? Hiram? Yeah, everything's still in order; the blasted pig tried to escape earlier, but the dogs caught him in time. Yep, he's safely back down in the basement, and this time he's not going anywhere else, so he'll be here when you get here. Do you have the truck ready? Wonderful. Listen, try and get here by sundown if you can; I'd like to speed things up. Good. So Hiram, after we..."

"That's all we need to know. Templeton," Charlotte called to the rat, who was slowly approaching the farmhouse, "He's in the basement; check that he's all right down there."

"Yes, Mommy Dearest," Templeton mumbled, crawling towards the shattered and barred-but thankfully unguarded at the moment-basement window and sticking his head in. "Are you in here, oh pig of my dreams?" he called in.

"Templeton!" came Wilbur's joyful shout, "Templeton, is it really you!? Is Charlotte with you!?"

"Sorry to say yes; she forced me to come along on this..." Templeton stopped and jumped aside as Orville landed next to him on the ground. "Wilbur, are you all right?" Charlotte parachuted through the air down to the floor next to the crate.

"I am now! Oh Charlotte, I just knew you'd come!" crying tears of joy, Wilbur nuzzled her through the bars of the case with his nose, "Mr. Barrens was going to...!"

"We know the whole story. We're going to get you out of here somehow..."

"I'm coming, Wilbur!" Jeffrey eagerly rushed through the bars and jumped off the ledge, flapping his wings-but, as they still had only down rather than feathers, he immediately nose-dived to the floor with a loud crash. "Wonderful, kid; you're going to make a great aviator one of these days," Templeton told him sarcastically, climbing down the wall to the floor, "Thicker than apple butter, that kid..." he muttered in disgust under his breath.

"Are you the spider that wrote the words?" a dumbfounded Clem rose up staring right at Charlotte, "You actually came...?"

"Charlotte A. Cavatica. And yes, I'd do anything for Wilbur," she introduced herself to the dog.

"This is Clem," Wilbur in turn introduced his new friend to her, "He's the runt of the litter himself. He almost helped me escape before. Can we take him too, Charlotte? I'm sure Mr. Zuckerman can give him a much better home than he has here."

"I'm sure. I've seen how bad most of the animals on this farm have it as well, Wilbur, and I'd like to free them too. Now let's see here," Charlotte glanced around the basement, "This won't be terribly easy. Getting those bars off the window, and then finding a way to get you out the gate quickly and back to Zuckerman's farm...I may need more help than I have readily available now..."

"If we can't do it, then don't waste my time trying to find a pointless solution!" Templeton snapped.

"There will be a solution, Templeton. In the meantime," Charlotte gestured him over, "You know how to handle locks; get Wilbur out of this case by the time I get back."

"So you're abandoning him right after you found him? Some friend you are," the rat rolled his eyes.

"I'm going to have Orville take me on a reconnaissance flight around the farm. I'd like to know exactly where all the gates are, as well as the vehicles; that pig truck gave me part of an idea. And then, we're going to get some more outside help to get Wilbur and the other animals out of this farm."

"Please don't go, Charlotte, I need you, now more than ever!" Wilbur pleaded.

"I understand, Wilbur, but I'll be back, I promise," Charlotte sympathetically rubbed a leg against his nose, "Jeffrey and Templeton will keep you company while I'm gone. In the meantime, Templeton," she turned back to the rat, "See if you can find a long length of rope or chain that we can attach to the window to pull the bars off. And see if you can fix up something that can buy some time if Barrens comes down here between now and then."

"Now that I'd be glad to do, Your Worship," Templeton rubbed his claws together eagerly, "Finally, I can stick it to the humans and be justified..."

"All right, hold tight, Wilbur. I'll be back before you know it," Charlotte gave him a final blessing before scurrying back up the wall and out the window. Wilbur jerked the case around until he was facing the window. "Who's that she's with, Templeton?" he asked the rat, seeing Charlotte climbing back aboard Orville.

"Name's Orville, and that eagle gave me nightmares not to be believed," Templeton grumbled, watching the spider and eagle fly away, "If I never step on board a..."

"Wilbur!" a now recovered Jeffrey rushed the case and thrust his wings around the pig's snout, "I'm so glad to see you!"

"I'm so glad to see you too, Jeffrey; I've missed you almost as much as Charlotte," Wilbur gushed, "Your mother actually let you come along?"

"She and the rest of my family aren't too far behind. But I had to get to you, Wilbur, to know that you're all right. We're going to get you home. Get him out of there, Templeton," Jeffrey called to the rat.

"All right, all right, don't rush me, kid!" Templeton climbed up the side of the case, grabbed the lock pin, pulled it up, and pushed the case open with his feet. "There, born free again, oh radiant Wilbur," he told the pig, who quickly jumped out.

"Thank you, Templeton," Wilbur commended him, "Now get Clem loose too," he pointed at the dog, who had stood up with a hopeful expression.

"I was authorized to get you and you alone, Wilbur. So unless I get a good price for it, I'm not doing any more than I absolutely have to," Templeton folded his arms confidently across his chest.

"Templeton, please; Clem might starve to death if we leave him down here! Mr. Barrens said he wasn't going to feed him anymore!" Wilbur pleaded, "He's my friend too now!"

"Name your price, Wilbur..."

"Mr. Dog, do you know where the human keep their food in here?" Jeffrey asked Clem.

"It's Clem, little guy. And yeah, the fridge should be right over us," Clem lifted his head directly upwards.

"How about that, Templeton?" the gosling posed to him. Templeton's whiskers twitched in delight. "OK, deal," he agreed, rushing over to Clem and unlatching the chain holding him to the post, "Besides, you might come in handy if a cat shows up. Now excuse me, I haven't had a good meal in over a day. Be back when I feel full enough."

He climbed up the wall and started gnawing at the floorboards. "You'll have to excuse Templeton," Wilbur told Clem, "His priorities often are a bit different from Charlotte's."

"So I can see," Clem frowned up at the rat, "I hope he doesn't give us away."

"I think we can trust him. Oh, this is Jeffrey," Wilbur introduced the gosling to the dog, "He lives next to me at Zuckerman's...I think he wants to be a pig sometimes too."

"Nice to meet you," Clem licked Jeffrey, who laughed in delight, "There's really more of you out there coming here?"

"Yep, my whole family's on the way," Jeffrey told him, "We've really had a great adventure so far..."

"Well, while we have time, tell me all about it," Wilbur asked his friend, plopping down on the floor.

"Well," Jeffrey took a deep breath, "Father woke us up when those men took you. Charlotte called a conference, and after we realized they'd dropped off a fake you in your pen, she decided to come find you. My brothers and sisters and I wanted to come too, so Mother and Father agreed..."


	8. A Daring Plan

"Any sign of them, Homer?" Mrs. Zuckerman asked her husband, who was climbing out of the cab of his truck.

"None, Edith," the farmer shook his head, "I drove practically every road in the county; no sign of them. None of the other farmers saw them either. I asked everyone to keep an eye out for them, though." He leaned against his truck, looking perplexed. "Why would that old ewe and those geese just run off like that? I treat them well here; they've got lots to eat and lots of space. Did they just want to know what freedom tastes like...?"

He sighed softly, then glanced around. "Arables leave already?"

"Twenty minutes ago. Thing is, though, Fern was still insisting it's not Wilbur in there," Mrs. Zuckerman pointed at the pig in the pigpen, "She was really adamant about it, saying it was a pig named Sixtus from J.L. Barrens' farm, and that he'd been switched with Wilbur last night."

"Really?" Mr. Zuckerman chuckled, "She sure has a bright imagination, that one. Don't you agree, Wilbur?" he asked Sixtus, who oinked loudly.

"Anything, Mr. Zuckerman?" Lurvy was approaching with slop buckets.

"Nope, Lurvy. They must be in the woods somewhere; right after dinner, maybe we'll get some dogs and search there," his employer mused, his eyebrows shooting up as Sixtus eagerly devoured the slop the moment it was dumped into Wilbur's trough. "Well, he's really hungry tonight," he remarked.

"That's the strange thing, Mr. Zuckerman," Lurvy agreed, staring perplexedly at Sixtus, "The pig's been eating like a cyclone all day whenever I've brought him something. It's almost like he hasn't eaten anything for weeks beforehand."

"Is he now?" Mr. Zuckerman's mused. "Oh well, I guess all the excitement around here's gotten him worked up into a feeding frenzy."

He wiped some sweat from his brow before continuing, "Anyway, want to tell the two of you first: in between calling all the neighbors, I also called the county fair commissioner this afternoon. I've made preliminary arrangements to take Wilbur to the fair next month. Shouldn't take too much longer to finalize it after this."

"That's wonderful, Homer. He's bound to win a prize for sure," Mrs. Zuckerman exclaimed, beaming down at Sixtus.

"Yep, I feel good about his chances, Edith. Once I've officially finalized his entry, I'll make the announcement public. You're going to be the star of the fair, my little friend, I know it in my heart," he rubbed the squealing Sixtus on the head affectionately. He started walking away with his wife and hired hand, still going over the details of the future trip to the fair. Sixtus slumped to the ground. "It's no good," he conceded to the other animals, who had been watching, "We can't get it through to them that I'm not your Wilbur. And since they won't believe that girl Fern, I don't see how we ever will."

"We'll just have to keep trying," one of the cows told him, "If Charlotte can't get Wilbur out of your old boss's farm, it'll be up to us."

"I hope she's close to rescuing him by now," a lamb spoke up, looking worried.

"Trust Charlotte," the rooster assured her, fluttering down to the fence, "Right now, I just know she's formulating a master plan to bring him back here..."

* * *

"What you're proposing's really elaborate, Miss Cavatica," Orville told Charlotte, flying over the treetops on the far side of the river from Barrens' farm, "I'm not sure if we're going to be able to pull this off. And, if I may be frank, I'm not sure if it's something we should do. Releasing all those domestics out into the wild where they'll be probably set upon by predators, if not starve to death from being unable to survive..."

"You have valid concerns, Orville. I'm trusting that they'll be able to make their way to more sympathetic farms before they starve or Barrens catches back up to them. And my conscience won't let me abandon them when they're suffering. We need to help as many as we can as well as Wilbur."

"For a small spider, you sure have a big heart," the eagle cracked a small smile. He glanced down at a clearing in the woods by the river below them. "Looks like the assembly's nearly complete."

"I appreciate you spreading the word I wished for assistance to as many residents of these woods as you could. Let's hope they'll be able to help us. Take me down," Charlotte instructed him. Orville obligingly descended down into the clearing, which was now filled with scores of bears, foxes, deer, beavers, and other woodland creatures, as well as the other members of the rescue team from Zuckerman's farm. "Charlotte, we've been waiting for you," the goose greeted the spider once Orville had landed on a stump in the middle of the clearing, "Is Jeffrey all right!?"

"He and Templeton are with Wilbur at the moment. Wilbur won't let anything happen to him, I can promise you and your husband that," Charlotte assured her.

"How come he gets to have all the fun!?" one of the other goslings complained, "He gets to go deep into enemy territory, while we...!"

"Quiet please," Charlotte cut him off, standing up high on Orville's head. Good afternoon, and thank you for all coming on short notice," she addressed the woodland animals, "What I am about to ask of you will likely seem unusual, but I assure you it is for a greater good. I would like your help in helping to break a friend of ours out of Mr. J.L. Barrens' farm," she gestured at it, "And, in the process, help me release the other animals that have been suffering under his yoke."

"That's suicide," a weasel spoke up, "No animal in his right mind would go in there!"

"I'm well aware of that. But this is a humanitarian mission for our fellow animals. And if we all work together, we can successfully do this. And you'll all have the honor of knowing you did good in this world. Are you with me?" she asked them. The other animals conferred amongst themselves for a minute. "If you can guarantee our safety, we're in," declared a beaver.

"All right then. Listen closely, as this is a bit complex. Who can draw well?" Charlotte asked the crowd. A squirrel raised its hand. "Good, you can draw this out for us," she authorized it. It picked up a stick and awaited her cue. "We are here," she began, pausing briefly as it drew a line in the dirt to denote the river and an X to mark the animals' location, "Across the river is Barrens' farm, of course," she parachuted down to the ground and tapped the location she wanted drawn on next. "Our friend Wilbur is currently being held in the basement of the farmhouse here. There are twelve major barns in which other animals are being kept, in a cluster around here. Shortly after sundown, a truck will be arriving to take Wilbur to the airport for a one way flight away from here. I want some of you to make sure that truck never reaches Barrens' farm, at least not until after we're gone from here. Block it or disable it somehow. The rest of you, at the same time, will cross the river to the farm-I believe there's a ford about a half mile to the north from here?"

"There is," said a large deer, "I can lead you to it."

"Wonderful. Now I noticed a weak spot around that area earlier that is not usually guarded by either men or dogs. We'll have to cut or break through the barbed wire, but I believe we can do so. From there, charge the farm buildings and cause a major riot. Those of you who are strong enough," she turned to the bears, "break open the farm animals' enclosures and direct them to safety; we should really have multiple breeches in the security perimeter so they have multiple escape points. Spare me at least one or two oxen, though; I'll need their brute strength to break open the bars sealing off Wilbur's prison in the basement. Now when we have him and the dog down there with him that I also promised to get out, we lead him over towards this garage here," she gestured for the squirrel to draw another square on the ground, "There are several farm trucks in there. I've seen the basics of how humans drive, so we'll start one of the trucks up and drive him out of there. I'll just need some of you to make sure Barrens' men and dogs can't immediately pursue us out."

"Consider it done," the beaver who'd spoken up earlier said with pride, "But what if the men and dogs cut you off before you get to the garage?" he asked, worried.

"I have considered that. We'll throw a feint on them first and take Wilbur into this unused barn near the garage," Charlotte hopped to the right of the drawing denoting the garage, "If anyone follows us in, we can take them out of the pursuit there-although please don't do anything that would be fatal to them. I don't want to kill or seriously injure anyone. You can be in charge of that," she told the geese, "That way, you and your children won't be in harm's way; it's a quick jaunt out a hole in the back wall to the garage."

"Sounds good to me," the gander nodded. "What do you all say to that?" he asked the other animals.

"When can we start?" a fox declared eagerly, "This whole plan sounds terrific."

"Which, I might point out," the goose hissed softly to the old sheep, "My husband and I STILL say is spelled T-E-E-R-R-I-I-F-F-I-I-C-C-C-C-C-C!"

"Hush!" the old sheep hissed back. "Well then, if you're all on board with this, decide who's going to do what, then get in your preliminary positions," she informed the woodland creatures, "We move at exactly sundown."

With excited murmurs, the animals scattered to take their places. "I hope this works, Charlotte," the old sheep walked over to the spider, who was climbing back up the stump, "We're possibly putting a lot of animals in perilous positions here, especially if Barrens and his men are heavily armed. And there's no guarantee we'll able to safely drive back to Zuckerman's farm with Wilbur on our own."

"I know the risks. But they're worth it to get Wilbur home. All right, go with the geese," Charlotte instructed her, pointing at the geese, who were now waddling towards the river, "You can keep watch outside the barn; the moment we have Wilbur and the dog out, help us lead them to the barn. And above all, let's hope this works as I've planned it; this is probably our only shot at this..."


	9. Escape from Barrens' Farm

"Is it almost done, Templeton?" Wilbur called up to the window.

"Just about...got it," Templeton finished winding a chain around the bars. He snapped a padlock that had been found laying the corner into place. "Ready for whenever Queen Charlotte returns. How's it coming over there, kid, Fido?" he called to the stairs, where Clem and Jeffrey were finishing tying a tripwire in place across the second stair from the top.

"It's Clem," the dog corrected him, pulling the final knot tight, "Yep, we're good here too. Good thinking, Templeton, to set this up to buy us time if Barrens figures anything out."

"And now for the coup de grace," Templeton scurried down the wall and over to the corner, where gasoline containers and boxes of black powder were all stacked together. The rat gnawed through the plastic of one of the gas containers, springing a hole and sending a stream of gasoline trickling across the floor. "I'm not sure if this is a good idea, Templeton," Wilbur voiced concern, "This could be dangerous, and it..."

"Stop worrying, oh radiant Wilbur; I won't set this off until I know Barrens and everyone else is out of the house. I'm not going to endanger anyone's lives. And given the monster Barrens is to animals like us, this is his just desserts. Make yourself useful, kid, and help me find some matches," Templeton called to Jeffrey, then scuttled into the corner in search of the matches. "I hope he knows what he's doing," Clem approached Wilbur, "This just doesn't seem right."

"I know, but I don't think Templeton can be talked out of it," Wilbur shook his head, "And I hope Charlotte gets back soon; the sun's just about down now," he glanced worriedly towards the window, where dusk was falling outside, "That truck'll be here for me very soon..."

* * *

"See anything yet?" Charlotte asked Orville, who was perched on the very top of the tallest pine tree on the far side of the river, "I'm a bit nearsighted by nature, especially after dark."

"Nothing on the road yet," Orville squinted towards the darkened road approaching the Barrens farm, on the sides of which scores of deer had congregated, "You gents see anything?" he asked the two owls on the branches below them.

"No vehicles yet. Everyone's moving into position, though," one of the owls declared, noticing their impromptu army moving through a now open gap in the fence by a blind spot in the shrubbery along the river, "They'll probably be ready to go when we give the signal."

"Wonderful," Charlotte took a deep breath, "I certainly hope no one does get sacrificed here. I would hate be responsible for anyone's death."

"I know," Orville nodded knowingly, "I hope we can get through this with zero casualties. Speed should really be of the essence here; once we start breaking everyone out, we should get to the basement and get your friend to the truck as quick as we can. And then hope we can drive the several miles to Zuckerman's farm before Barrens can catch up."

"Indeed," Charlotte agreed. "You know, I will be glad to get home to my web; being a sedentary spider by nature, wide-scale travel like this isn't usually my forte. But then again, this may prove helpful for me, as I suspect Mr. Zuckerman's next move will be to take Wilbur to the county fair. This could prepare me for that journey if I choose to go along..."

"Headlights coming, headlights to a big vehicle!" one of the owls hooted out loud. The spider and eagle spun to see the headlights in question approaching up the road. "Think that's the truck, all right," Orville nodded, "Give the signal," he instructed both owls. They took off and flew down to the road, hooting, "Places, places!" to the deer, who promptly swarmed onto the road. The truck braked to an abrupt stop behind them. "Come on, get off the road, you stupid deer!" the driver shouted loudly enough to be heard from atop the tree.

"Shoo, shoo, get lost!" Hiram Hucks himself climbed out of the cab and started waving his hands at the deer. None of them moved an inch. "I said move; I have an important pig to pick up here!" he bellowed, charging at them and waving his arms more wildly.

"Is Phase One executing properly?" Charlotte asked her cohort, squinting as hard as she could at the road.

"Looks like it is," Orville noticed several squirrels and porcupines crawling towards the truck. The former quickly chewed through the fuel lines, sending gasoline spilling out onto the road, while the latter drove their quills into the tires, which started hissing as air escaped from them. "Phase One accomplished; the truck's not going anywhere," the eagle declared.

"All right, now it's time to start the main phase. Give the signal to the others, then execute your part," Charlotte instructed him.

"OK, here we go," Orville alighted and flew hard towards the farm. "Go, go, go!" he shouted to the army of animals waiting at the fence, then winged towards the dogs guarding another spot further down along the fence. "Can't catch me, you stupid mutts!" he taunted the guard dogs, buzzing them low.

"No one mocks us, you arrogant bird!" one of the largest dogs growled, "Get him, boys!" he shouted at the other dogs, who took off after the eagle, barking murderously. Orville winged towards the woodshed and perched atop a large pile of wood inside. "Come and get me!" he dared the dogs.

"Get that eagle!" the dog now leading the large pack of at least fifteen dogs charging towards the woodshed shouted. The moment they entered, Orville took off, flew back out while managing to avoid their snapping jaws, kicked the door closed with his left talon, and slammed the latch shut with his right one. The door rattled hard, but the dogs were trapped inside. "Never fails," the eagle nodded firmly, winging away from the shed.

"Take me to the oxen barn; we need to recruit at least one of them," Charlotte told him.

"As you wish, Miss Cavatica. Looks like the breakout's going well so far," Orville glanced towards the fields, through which animals were now streaming, many of them shouting, "We're free, we're free!" The eagle took flight again towards the nearest barn, raising his altitude to avoid running into a number of farm workers running out of the barn, screaming. Several angry-looking bulls were charging after them, bellowing, "Mistreat us, will you!?" Orville zoomed into the barn, where bears and raccoons were yanking open and unlocking, respectively, stall doors, allowing the cattle and oxen inside to rush out and charge towards the door and freedom. "Sir, if you'll hold up a moment," Charlotte said to the charging ox on whose horns Orville had now landed, "I'd like to request your services for a few minutes."

* * *

"Butch, what in blue blazes is going on out there!?" Barrens could be heard shouting directly over Wilbur's head.

"I don't know, Mr. Barrens, but half the critters in the woods are raiding the farm and letting all our animals go!" Butch related, gasping between deep breaths.

"Say what!?"

"I wouldn't believe it myself, but they're raiding all the barns and letting them out of their enclosures!"

"Just what I need right now, with Hucks coming in a few minutes!" Barrens muttered out loud in disgust, "All right, you get down the basement and keep an eye on Homer's pig; I'm going to the gate and cutting them off!"

"Right, Mr. Barrens," Butch agreed. Wilbur gulped at the sound of the foreman's footsteps thumping across the planks over his head. "Hurry, Charlotte, if they see we're loose...!" he lamented out loud.

"Listen," Clem spoke up. A loud bovine bellow could be heard out front, followed by the loud thundering of hooves. "Whoa, hey, stop!" Barrens cried out. His footsteps took off running. "No, wait, stop, let him go!" Charlotte commanded out loud, "I need you for this here!"

"All right," the ox muttered, disappointed. Orville fluttered down to the ground outside the window. "Is everything set?" the eagle called in.

"We're all set in here; get me out quick!" Wilbur pleaded.

"Hey, what's going on down...?" Butch thrust the basement door open and started down the stairs...and promptly tripped over the wire strung across the stairs and fell head over heels all the way to the bottom. "Gotta watch your step!" Templeton taunted him from the corner. The rat jammed a packet of matches into his teeth and scampered up the wall to the window. "Here, do your thing," he seized the end of the chain and tossed it to Orville. The eagle grabbed hold of the chain in his talons, flew to the shoulders of the now harnessed ox, and locked it into place on the harness. "OK, pull!" he ordered the ox, who obligingly started pulling forward. The bars groaned, then broke away, taking the remaining glass in the window and half the wall around it. "Hey, where do you think you're going!?" Butch leaped to his feet and shouted at Wilbur, who'd started climbing up the crates again. He charged towards the pig...but jumped back when Clem rushed into his path and growled angrily with barred teeth. "Nice dog, nice dog!" the foreman gulped, stepping backwards, "No need to bite...!"

Clem barked furiously and lunged slightly forward, forcing Butch further back. "Come on Clem, follow me!" Wilbur called to the dog from the window, "I don't want to leave you behind!"

"Coming!" Clem turned and grabbed Jeffrey, who'd been standing alongside him, hurling his combination bark/oinks at Butch, in his jaws and leaped towards the boxes. "Oh no you don't!" Butch recovered and lunged after him, leaping out the window in pursuit of the dog. With a loud bellow, the ox charged at him the instant he was outside. Screaming, Butch turned and ran away from the farmhouse, the ox hot on his heels with its horns lowered. "At least he got his exercise in for the day," Orville chuckled, landing on the ground next to the freed prisoners.

"And now for the coup de grace against Barrens the tyrant," Templeton gleefully drew a match from the packet. "Templeton, I forbid you to do that!" Charlotte ordered him, "This is going beyond...!"

"Too late, Queen Charlotte; _sic semper tyrannus_ to Barrens," Templeton struck the match against his teeth and tossed it through the opening where the window once was. With loud pops, flames started dancing inside. "Better move quick; this place'll blow up really big with everything he's got stored down there," the rat told the others, rushing away from the farmhouse.

"HEY, WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING, PIG!?" came Barrens' angry shout from the direction Butch had run. The farmer raced towards them, fury on his face. "Run for it!" Wilbur cried, scooping Jeffrey onto his snout and taking off as fast as his legs could manage. Roaring, Barrens gained on him...

...but it was at this moment his farmhouse exploded in a colossal fireball, sending Barrens flying to the ground from the shockwave. He rolled over and stared numbly at his now burning house, which was now rocked further by a second, smaller explosion. Rage quickly spread on his face. "You filthy animals!" he shrieked at Wilbur and the others disappearing around the corner of the henhouse, "You're going to pay for this!"

* * *

Miles away, Fern bolted upright in bed at the sound of the distant explosion. She ran quickly to the window and immediately saw the large fireball billowing into the sky on the horizon. "Oh my," she gasped.

"Hey what's going on out there!?" Avery thrust the door open behind her and quickly joined her at the window. "Wow," he exclaimed, seeing the fireball himself, "Something really went off there. Hope nobody got hurt."

"Neither do I," Fern shivered. Footsteps could be heard thudding next door in their parents' room. "What is it, John!?" Mrs. Arable asked out loud, worried.

"Looks like something went off at J.L. Barrens' place," Mr. Arable said grimly, "I'd better give him a call and make sure everything's all right."

"Barrens...oh no, Wilbur might be in trouble..." Fern mused, "If he...!"

"Are you going to come off that already!?" Avery gave her a frustrated look, "For the last time, Wilbur's safely back in his pen on Uncle Homer's farm! He wasn't switched by Mr. Barrens for some evil scheme...!"

"Avery, I swear it, Wilbur was stolen by...!"

"I'm not getting Barrens' phone," their father could be heard calling to their mother from the parlor downstairs, "I'm going to call the sheriff and ask him to send someone over there."

"OK, the sheriff, good," Fern breathed a sigh of relief, "If he can find Wilbur..."

"You're crazy, you know that? Completely crazy," Avery shook his head at her and walked back to his own room. Fern sighed and leaned against the window, her eyes locking in with concern on the fiery glow in the sky in the distance. "Please be OK, Wilbur," she mumbled softly, "And if you are, please make it home..."

* * *

"Wilbur, in here!" the old sheep called to him, gesturing with her head at the barn doors ahead of them.

"Barrens is right behind us!" Wilbur gasped.

"That's good, actually; the plan was to lead him in here, Wilbur. Get down in the hay near the back wall," Charlotte told him. Wilbur dashed into the barn. "In the back, Wilbur, and stay quiet-iet-iet," the goose called down to him from the hayloft.

"Wilbur, you're all right!" the other goslings all shouted as one next to their mother, "Glad to see you!"

"Shhhh! Down!" the goose pushed her children behind a hay bale in the loft. Wilbur lay down in the hay and burrowed down as deep as he could. "Stay quiet," he instructed Jeffrey, who nodded softly and swam deep into the hay himself. Moments later, the barn door slammed open. "All right pig, I saw you come in here!" Barrens shouted out loud, "Come out now, or it's not going to be pretty!"

Silence greeted him. "Butch, take the left, I'll take the right!" he hissed to his foreman, who stumbled in after him. The farmer grabbed a pitchfork off the wall and started jamming it into the hay lining the barn's walls, trying to flush Wilbur out. Wilbur gulped nervously at one particularly hard thrust Barrens made mere feet from him. "Charlotte...!" he hissed worriedly to his friend, astride Orville's beak in the rafters.

"Ready," Charlotte hissed to the opposite wall, "...and...now!

In a flash, the gander leaped out of the hay and rammed his bill hard into Barrens's rear end. Barrens howled in pain and stumbled around, bumping into Butch and sending them both flying into a post. "Now!" the gander shouted up to his family in the hayloft.

"All right, children!" the goose declared, "Let the scalawags have it!" She and the goslings pushed the large hay bale down onto the men's heads, sending them to the floor with a groan. The gander flapped up to the loft to join them. "Now for the full effect, my dear," he told the goose, joining her by a large barrel. Both geese pushed it over, dousing Barrens and his foreman with a steady stream of tar. The goslings then tipped over a bag, dumping feathers on the men as well. "That's my cue," Orville swooped over to another loft, grabbed a set of horseshoes in his talons, and dropped them on Barrens' and Butch's heads. Howling, both men collapsed to the ground, groaning in agony. "Lead Wilbur out the back and meet us in the garage," Charlotte called to the geese, now sliding down a beam to the floor, as Orville took flight out the barn door again. "OK, lock it," she shouted to the old sheep, who Wilbur saw standing, with Templeton atop her horn, outside. The former quickly pushed both doors shut, and a padlock snapped. "Wilbur, this way," the gander spoke up, snapping the pig's attention to the rear. He followed the gander through a crack in the rear wall of the barn and rapidly towards the garage, which Orville, Clem, and the old sheep were racing for as well. "We were worried about you, Wilbur," the largest gosling called behind him, leading his siblings after the pig, "What happened after those men grabbed you?"

"It's a long story, but I'll explain when we get the chance. Where are we going now, Charlotte?" Wilbur called to the spider from her perch atop Orville.

"I think I know. We're going to try and drive out of here, aren't we?" Clem asked Charlotte with a grin.

"Indeed. Templeton, grab the second key on that hook," Charlotte called to the rat, who reached out and grabbed it as the old sheep rushed past it. "In this truck," she called to everyone, as Orville landed on its hood, "We just have to figure out the best way to steer..."

"Not a problem; my siblings and I occasionally played in the trucks here before I got dragged away from them. I know how to steer if we can get this started," Clem told her, his grin widening.

"How incredibly convenient...but not that I'm complaining if we get out of here alive," Templeton murmured, grabbing the handle to the driver's side door and pulling it open, "Hop in, oh radiant Wilbur."

Wilbur leaped up into the cab, scooting over to the center as Clem jumped up to the driver's seat, pulled the door closed once Charlotte had climbed inside, and put his paws on the steering wheel. To his right, the passenger door opened, which precipitated the geese jumping into the cab, depositing their goslings on the passenger seat. "I'll have a talk with you later about disobeying-eying-eying my commands to stay with us, young man," the goose gave Jeffrey a stern look after depositing him on the seat with his siblings, "Nonetheless, though, I am glad you're all right, Jeffrey," she switched quickly to a smile, though, and nuzzled him warmly with her beak. "All right, buckle up, children," she grabbed the seatbelt with her beak, pulled it across the goslings, and buckled them in, then pulled the passenger door closed after the old sheep had squeezed into the cab as well. "Hurry up, Templeton, and let's get this truck rolling-olling-olling!" the goose goaded the rat, who was now racing across the dashboard with the key in his teeth.

"Ready to roll if you just get off my back, Goosey Loosey," Templeton jammed the key into the ignition and turned it, sending the engine sputtering to life. "OK, hit it," he shouted to the gander, who'd fluttered down to the floor.

"Hold on," the gander jumped down hard on the accelerator-but the truck merely spun its wheels wildly. "What's the story here!?" the gander looked up, confused, "Vehicles always move when you push down on this pedal-edal-edal!"

"Hurry, everyone, here comes Barrens!" Wilbur cried, seeing the farmer and scores his men angrily rushing the garage in the rearview mirror, barking dogs running alongside them, "He broke out of the barn already!"

"I see," Charlotte noted the ax in Barrens' hands, making it clear how he had escaped. "The gearshift; Templeton, throw it to the R!" she instructed him. The rat depressed the button with his toe and pushed down on the gearshift with his legs until it reached the R. "Floor it!" the spider told the gander, who jumped on the accelerator again. The truck lurched rapidly backwards out of the garage, sending Barrens and his men scattering just in time to avoid being run down. "Now to the D," Charlotte told Templeton, who pushed down further on the gearshift lever until it reached the right letter. Clem spun the steering wheel to the left, sending the truck speeding awkwardly down the road. "Stop that truck! Stop it!" Barrens yelled after it.

"We did it," Wilbur exhaled in relief, "We're getting out of here..."

"Let's not celebrate yet, Wilbur; it looks like we've still got company-ompany-ompany," the goose stared out the passenger window at men and dogs giving pursuit, and behind them another truck speeding out of the garage. "How far to the gate?" she asked Clem.

"Should only be a half mile or so-I can see it from here," Clem said, his eyes locking in on the gate in the distance, "Once we get through it..."

" _If_ we get through it," the old sheep frowned at the knots of men starting to gather around the gate, which was swinging closed, "They won't let us go willingly."

"Who? I can't see anything!" complained one of the goslings, its view and that of its siblings blocked by the old sheep.

"Maybe for the better," the ewe told it grimly, "Now what?" she asked Charlotte.

"Don't stop. Go for the gate as fast as you can," Charlotte told Clem and the gander, "Just don't run anyone over."

"Hold on tight," the gander pressed down harder on the accelerator. The truck sped up, its speedometer reading eighty miles an hour as it barreled towards the now closed gate. At first the men standing guard stood their ground, but when the truck continued coming at them, they had no choice but to dive out of its way, screaming. The truck crashed through the gate, sending splinters flying in all directions. "Another truck behind them; bring them down!" came Orville's shout from the cab's roof. Wilbur glanced outside to see beavers gnawing at several trees alongside the road. With loud cracks, six of them fell one after the other onto the road, blocking it to the trailing truck, which skidded to a stop behind them. The goose let out a cheer, which her children then mimicked. "Take that, you rotten rapscallion-allion-allion!" she shouted tauntingly back at Barrens' farm.

"All right, so where do you want me to drive?" Clem asked, pressing down on the horn and spinning the wheel to move around Hucks' immobilized truck, sending Hucks and his crew diving away themselves, "Which way is Zuckerman's farm?"

"I have a general idea," Charlotte descended on a line from the central mirror on the windshield, "But mind you, since we came here through the woods, and since I'd never left Zuckerman's farm before this, I'm not entirely sure. Best just to get back to the highway and head east-and hope we can find familiar landmarks as quickly as we can..."

* * *

"I don't believe this!" the tarred and feathered Barrens raged, jumping out of his truck and staring furiously at the trees blocking the road out of his farm, "How can a bunch of animals make this much of a fool out of me!?"

"Mr. Barrens, we chased after the escaping animals, but we were only able to catch a few..." a farmhand ran up.

"Forget about them!" Barrens shouted at him, "It's that pig that's important!" He charged towards the trees and started chopping through the nearest one with his ax. "Well, don't just stand around!" he shouted at his men, "Set the dogs loose and rev up every truck we've got! I want that pig found and brought back here no matter what the cost is, and I want it back here right now!"


	10. The Fugitive Pig

"Turn right here, onto the highway," Charlotte instructed Clem, who spun the wheel hard. Still traveling at over eighty miles an hour, the truck skidded hard around the corner, but successfully made the turn and lurched down the highway. "Now if we can maintain this speed, and assuming this is the right road, we'll hopefully be back at the Zuckerman farm within ten minutes," she reasoned, squinting at the road from her perch atop the central rearview mirror.

"Are you sure, Charlotte? I don't recognize anything around here," Wilbur glanced out the driver's side window, "And I was looking hard out of the crate when Fern's father took me to Mr. Zuckerman's..."

"You wouldn't recognize anything then even if it wasn't dark, Wilbur; the Arables' farm is on the other side of...watch it!" the old sheep shouted to Clem, who had briefly lost control of the truck and started drifting into the opposite lane, putting it in the path of an oncoming car, which blared its horn hard. The dog spun the wheel wildly to the right, just managing to avoid a collision. "Hey, turn on your lights and stay on your side!" the irate driver shouted at them.

"Good point; Templeton, headlights," Charlotte told the rat.

"OK, OK...can't bother to do anything yourself, can you?" Templeton muttered under his breath, but nonetheless turned the knob that blazed on the truck's headlights. "You know, while we're all in a hurry to get home, don't you think going this fast is a little conspicuous?" he posed to everyone else in the cab.

"We'd better go as fast as we can; Barrens'll be after us real soon," Clem said, shivering, "The way he's been obsessed with getting Wilbur, he's not giving up without..."

"Police car at eleven o'clock-ock-ock; slow down, darling!" the goose shouted to her husband on the floor, having noticed the cruiser passing them by on the other side of the road now. But it was too late; the cruiser lurched to a stop, switched on its lights and siren, and turned around to pursue the truck. "On second thought, dear, speed it up again!" the goose corrected herself.

"But wait, don't we want the police to find us?" Wilbur had to ask.

"Maybe, maybe not. If Barrens is behind us, and we get pulled over, we'll be sitting ducks," the old sheep pointed out, "He'd probably tell the law we all belong to him, and we'd all be locked up on his farm."

"Then what do we do about the cops!?" Clem shot a glance out the window at the police car, still a distance behind them, but starting to gain slightly.

"Oh I don't know, maybe we'll just tell them that Wilbur's expecting piglets, and we were just rushing to get him to the hospital on time!" Templeton muttered sarcastically. "Well, oh high and mighty potentate, you're the brains around here, what's the plan now?" he dared Charlotte. Before the spider could say anything, however, the truck started sputtering and slowing down. "What's happening now?" Wilbur asked worriedly.

"I see what's happening; this truck is out of gas," the goose stared at the gas gauge, which was firmly on the E for empty, "It looks like we may be pulled over anyway."

"Not necessarily. Clem, pull into the woods; if my guess is right from what I saw atop Orville earlier, the river shouldn't be too far ahead," Charlotte told him, "We can ditch the truck there and find a safe place to hide."

"But what do we do after that!?" the gander protested from the floor.

"I don't know yet, but I'm sure something will come up. See if you can break us to a stop gently enough," Charlotte said, "All right Clem, now," she instructed the dog, who turned hard to the right and went into the woods. "Trees, trees, don't hit any!" Wilbur begged, bending down and covering his eyes with his hoofs.

"I'm trying, I'm trying!" Clem weaved in every direction to avoid collisions. "I think I see the river from here; brake it!" he called to the gander, who jumped off the accelerator and onto the brake pedal. The brakes squealed, but proved insufficient to stop the truck before it in fact crashed into a tree, sending everyone rolling forward. "That was fun! Let's do it again!" one of the goslings cheered.

"Later, much later, Stanley! Open that door, and let's get out of here!" the goose shouted to the old sheep while unbuckling the seatbelt from her children. The old sheep kicked the passenger door open with her hind legs and leaped out, followed by everyone else. The lights of the trailing police car could be seen in the woods behind them, getting closer. "There, under the bridge!" Clem loped towards one crossing the river not far away. The others followed, joining him underneath it and crouching down in the darkness. "...don't see anyone around here," a policeman was saying, "Look at this, though; hoof prints and webbed feet, real fresh."

"You know, for a moment, I thought I saw a dog driving the truck," another policemen mused, "I don't quite know why-was somebody illegally transporting animals around here?"

"I don't know. But with that report of farm animals running wild all through the woods here, maybe it's something we ought to..." the first officer started to say, but was interrupted by the wailing of a siren on the bridge right above the animals. "There's the sheriff now; let's see what he says," the first officer continued. The animals could just make out their flashlights waving around in the darkness as they ran to the bridge. "Hey Sheriff, what did you find?" the second officer asked.

"I dropped by J.L. Barrens', but the road was blocked by some trees. He was trying to chop through them when I showed up. Said half the animals in the woods raided his farm and blew up his house. I asked how much he'd been drinking beforehand, but he insisted he hadn't touched a drop," the sheriff said, sounded perplexed, "He seemed kind of worked up about something; I'll have to see what the story is later on. What happened here?"

"Saw a truck speeding and driving erratically; it turned into the woods and crashed, but when we caught up to it, no one was there," the first officer said, sounding confused, "Do you think it might have something to...?"

A horn blared on the bridge. "Hey Garth, you've got anything!?" came Barrens' voice, making the animals gulp and hunch down lower.

"I've got a crashed truck over there that seems to be from your farm, J.L.," the sheriff told him, "But my guys here say they didn't see anyone driving it."

"Really? Wonderful. Listen, Garth, those...the person driving that truck, he took a pig that I was going to give to Mr. Hucks here. I need that pig back, so if you see it, please grab it for me."

"Missing pig? You didn't mention anything about that before, J.L. What does it look like?" the sheriff inquired.

"Uh...exactly like Homer Zuckerman's famous pig, amazingly enough. So much so that you wouldn't be able to tell them apart."

"Do tell. Funny thing is, I got a call from Homer earlier about missing geese and sheep on his farm earlier today. And now it looks like half your animals broke out. What's going on around here?"

"I, uh, don't know, Garth. Listen, uh, where'd you find that truck?"

"Over that way. Did you see who drove it away from your farm?"

"Uh, no, not really; didn't get a good look at his face. But find that pig, Garth, please; I have a firm deal with Mr. Hucks here, and I don't want to lose...!"

"All right, all right, just calm down, J.L.," the sheriff told him firmly as thunder started rumbling overhead, "I'll have my men search around here, and if we see a pig, we'll let you know. Maybe you should go have a bite to eat and relax a little for a while; you don't look all that good right now. Take care, J.L."

His siren wailed again, quickly fading away. "If that truck crashed over there, Hiram, they can't be far away!" Barrens hissed excitedly to the promoter, "I'll radio the men and tell them to concentrate their searches in this area. We'll get him back yet!"

"You'd better, J.L.; I don't want all the money I gave you to be for nothing," Hucks muttered.

"Don't worry, Hiram; that pig'll be back in our hands before we know it...and if we can't have him, no one will," Barrens said coldly, following by the sound of a shotgun ominously snapping closed. Another car could be heard approaching the bridge. "Butch, they crashed over here!" Barrens shouted to his foreman, "Focus the dogs around the crash site; have the men set up positions on the road and woods near Homer's farm. I want no chance he gets anywhere near...!"

The rest of the conversation was drowned out by another crash of thunder and the pounding of raindrops. Wilbur gulped at the sound of Butch's car driving away, and, more ominously, what was clearly dogs barking in the distance downstream. "Now what do we do, Charlotte?" he fearfully asked his friend, "If they're going to cut us off...!"

"Then we'll have to go a different way. Everyone, we'll have to swim for it upstream-and hope this rain provides enough cover," Charlotte told everyone else, "If we can't get back to Zuckerman's tonight, let's at least hope we can find safe haven somewhere."

"But Charlotte, you know I can't swim well!" Jeffrey protested, staring with a worried expression at the fast-moving water flowing by them.

"Well perhaps less time hanging around in a pigpen and more time actually practicing on Mr. Zuckerman's lake will make you a much better swimmer going forward, young man," the gander sighed, nonetheless picking his youngest child up and depositing him on his back. "Hold on to me tight, Jeffrey. Get ready, children," he instructed the other goslings, who waddled forward to join him and their mother at the waterline, "This will be a harder swim than usual, but your mother and I trust you. Everyone else ready?" he asked the rest of the group.

"Ready as I'll ever be. But don't you dare drown, or I'll be a very angry rat!" Templeton warned the old sheep, climbing up to her head and grabbing hold of her right horn.

"Duly noted," the old sheep rolled her eyes. "OK, on three: one," she took a deep breath, "...two...three!"

She leaped into the river and swam hard against the current. Wilbur did the same, splashing hard. "Try not to be so loud, Wilbur; you might attract attention-ention-ention!" the gander pleaded with him, swimming more naturally with his family alongside him.

"I can't help it; I'm scared and I'm not as adept at this as you are!" Wilbur begged, glancing backwards, half expecting dogs and men to be right on their tails, but the river remained empty behind them for now.

"We're here for you, Wilbur, so don't panic, please," the goose patted him with her wing. "Stay close, children, this is wild water, and I don't want us separated in this storm-orm-orm," she advised her goslings, nudging them closer with her bill.

"I don't like this weather!" one of the goslings protested, struggling to stay in the pack it and its siblings had formed, "Where are we going to find shelter if we can't go to Zuckerman's, Momma?"

"I don't know, Marion, but I hope it comes soon," the goose shot a nervous backwards look herself.

"Hey down there," came Orville's cry. Wilbur looked up and could just make out the eagle flying overhead. "Where are you heading to now?" he called down.

"We don't know. Do you know anywhere we can stay around here that's safe?" the old sheep called up to him.

"I think so. There's a wooded island in the middle of the river about a half mile up; you can probably hide there for a while if you need. Hurry, though; I was down at the crash site before, and Barrens is about to send the dogs down this way. Even in a rainstorm, there'd be no way they'd miss you. So follow me and hurry."

He winged rapidly down the river. Wilbur strained hard, but he was rapidly tiring from the extreme exertion of hard swimming, far more than he was used to. "I don't know if I can make it...!" he cried out.

"Yes you will," the gander thrust his beak under the pig, holding him up. The goose did the same on Wilbur's other side. Straining to hold him above water, they paddled onwards. "There, I think I see it!" the old sheep now called out, and sure enough Wilbur, when he looked up, saw a mass in the river ahead of them that looked much like an island.

"Hurry, they're getting closer behind us!" another gosling cried, and indeed flashlights could be seen along the banks behind them, along with the sounds of louder dog barks. With loud gasps, the animals managed to swim to the island and staggered onto the shore. "Into the trees, down, and quiet!" Charlotte instructed everyone. They dashed for the woods, stopping at its densest part, and dropped to the ground. "I hope they won't be able to smell us out in here!" Wilbur whispered softly.

"No, I think we're in luck," Clem told him, plopping down next to him with heavy gasps, "I think we're just enough out of their range, and this rain should help-I hope..."

He went silent as the flashlights weaved through the trees on the shore in front of them. "See anything?" a man shouted.

"No, but I could swear I saw something swimming in the river a moment ago," another man spoke up.

"Don't see anything in it now. Might have been just your imagination with this rain. Dogs seem to be excited, though," the first man noted.

"I think they have the scent, so they must be around here somewhere. Hurry, before they get away!" the second man said. The flashlights moved rapidly up the banks and out of sight. Once they had vanished, and the dogs' barks had diminished to nothing, the animals breathed a sigh of relief. "It's all right, you can relax; they're gone now," Orville called down, coming in for a landing on a spruce branch above them.

"Good. For a moment there, I..." Wilbur was cut off as the goslings mobbed him, hugging him and cheering. "Yes, I'm glad to see all of you again, too," he smiled at them.

"We thought you were gone forever, Wilbur. It's so great to have you back," the largest gosling gushed, hugging Wilbur's snout.

"Now what, though, Charlotte?" the old sheep asked the spider, who was repairing the now damaged strands of her temporary web between the former's horns, "They'll probably be back soon, and we can't hide out here forever. And if they have the way to Zuckerman's blocked..."

"I know. But fortunately, there is a path we can take from here. The Arables' farm is further upstream from here; I could see it atop Orville earlier," Charlotte pointed out, "We'll try and head there once dawn breaks and we know the coast is clear..."

"And get to Fern. She'll know what to do; she'll take us back to Mr. Zuckerman somehow," Wilbur realized, "That's brilliant, Charlotte," he commended his friend.

"Hurray. All hail the great and brilliant Caravanica," Templeton muttered sarcastically, sliding down off the old sheep's horn to the ground, "In the meantime, I'm going to find a dry place to sleep for the night, and don't anyone bother me once I do find it."

"Why would we ever want to, Templeton?" the gander muttered, rolling his eyes. "Might as well bunker down as well, children-ildren-ildren," he told his goslings, "There's not much more we can do tonight."

"We want to sleep with Wilbur tonight, Papa," the largest gosling protested, "We've missed him so much."

"Well, very well then. But stay with him and don't wander off in the middle of the night-ight-ight," the goose advised them, snuggling down on the ground with her husband. Wilbur plopped down, sighing contentedly as the goslings all piled up in a heap in front of his nose. "It's so good to be out of that basement and be with all of you again," he told them happily, "I'm so glad you all came along with your parents on this."

"We'd all do anything for you, Wilbur," Jeffrey told him with a smile, leaning right against the pig's nose.

"I know, Jeffrey. I know a lot of people would. Including you, Charlotte," Wilbur smiled up at the spider on the old sheep's horns, "Thank you for everything. If it wasn't for you, I'd be on a plane heading far away from here now."

"And I couldn't let that happen to you, Wilbur. Still, I'll only feel truly relieved when you're back home in your pen. Orville," Charlotte called up to the eagle above them, "Could you do an aerial reconnaissance for us tomorrow morning before we move on out, to make sure the coast is clear?"

"Probably could manage it," Orville nodded, "So you know, though, Miss Cavatica, it's about three miles to John Arable's farm from this island. I don't know if you can make it that far without being spotted by Barrens' men and dogs..."

"We have to try, Orville, for Wilbur's sake. I owe it to him," Charlotte glanced down at Wilbur, snuggling close with the goslings, "I'd give my life for him..."

"Oh lovely. Just what this evening needs, excessive sap and saccharine from everyone!" Templeton complained from the bushes to their right, "Excuse me a moment while I throw up from all the lovey-doveyness."

"Templeton's just jealous that nobody cares for him," one of the goslings snorted at him, "He wishes that he could be Wilbur and everyone could love him..."

"Good night, you little drumstick," the rat muttered back at the young goose. The bushes then went silent. Wilbur shook his head softly. "Well, Clem, how does it feel to be free?" he turned to the dog.

"I...I haven't quite registered it yet," Clem admitted, "I've been chained up for so long, something like this is bound to take some time to process. But it does feel great, really great. I just hope you're right, and Mr. Zuckerman will take me in..."

"He will, once Fern gets us there," Wilbur said, closing his eyes and leaning gently against the now snoring goslings, "By this time tomorrow night, we should all be back where we belong..."

* * *

"Anything!?" Barrens called impatiently to Butch, stumbling towards the farmer on the road to Zuckerman's farm.

"Nothing, Mr. Barrens. We went up and down the river all the way to the U.S. highway; no sign of any of them. Can't we just call it a night!?" Butch protested, "We're all tired and hungry; there'll be plenty of time to..."

"No one takes a break until I have Homer's pig back in my possession!" Barrens shouted at him, "I want everyone searching these woods every minute until he is found. Now get going again!"

"Mr. Barrens, please...!"

"No buts; get to work!" his superior ordered him. Giving Barrens a disgusted look, Butch nonetheless trudged back off. Barrens climbed back into the dry interior of his car, parked along the side of the road, and hefted a map of the county. "He's got to be around here somewhere," he muttered, tracing the river's path through the county with his finger, "He can't hide forever. And I'm going to find him no matter what it takes...!"


	11. Wilbur at the Arables'

"Well, what's the verdict-erdict-erdict?" the goose asked Orville as he swooped back down onto the branches of a bush alongside the island's banks.

"I searched all over the woods and roads leading to the Arable farm; no sign of Barrens or any of his men," Orville said, "If we hurry, and I suggest we should just in case things were to change, we can probably make it there in about an hour or so."

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's get going!" the largest gosling declared.

"All in good time, Samuel," his mother admonished him. "Are you ready-eady-eady, Wilbur?" she asked him as he approached the bank himself.

"I guess so, I...I'm just so hungry by now; Barrens didn't feed me at all when he had me," Wilbur admitted, "I'm not sure if I have the strength to..."

"You will, Wilbur, trust me," Charlotte assured him from her temporary web atop the old sheep's horns, "Any of us would probably be surprised of what we can do in the clutch. All you have to do is make it to the Arables, and we'll get Fern to take care of the rest for us."

"I...hope so," Wilbur nodded softly, "I could really use Fern now."

He slowly started wading into the river. The adult geese stepped along either side of him. "Just in case you would need any helping-elping-elping hand along the way," the gander told him with a friendly smile. "Line up behind your mother and I, children, we're shoving off," he told them reaching back to once again deposit Jeffrey on his back after noticing his youngest child hesitate upon reaching the waterline. "When we get home, son, I'm going to give you a hard crash course in swimming; you're really going to need to be able to do it once you're my age," he told Jeffrey with a resigned sigh.

"Just so long as Wilbur can come too, Father. I'll feel more comfortable about it if he's swimming with me," Jeffrey declared.

"Well, we'll see what can be arranged, if anything. Perhaps that board on his pen's come loose again," the goose conceded with a roll of her eyes. She turned to her husband and mouthed at him, _"Make sure those lessons count, dear. If word gets out we're the parents of a goose that can't swim, we'll never hear the end of it."_ "All right, children, off we go," she told her other goslings, swimming away from the island. The goslings all cheered and swam after their parents and Wilbur into the now much calmer river. "Of course, there's just one obvious flaw here that none of you geniuses seem to have considered," Templeton complained from atop the old sheep's right horn, "If Fern's not there, we're pretty much out of luck."

"But she has to be there! We can't have come all this way to have it end like that!" Wilbur protested.

"If not, I'm sure we can wait on the farm for a while," Charlotte assured him.

"I, I guess so, Charlotte. And in a way, it'll be nice to go back home for a while," Wilbur managed a smile, "It'll be a pleasure to see how things have gone there since I moved to Mr. Zuckerman's. Maybe even I'll get to see..."

"Fat chance; they've probably already been shipped off to market, I'll wager-which, I may point out, oh radiant Wilbur, there's still the chance that's where you'll still end up, magic web words or not," Templeton snorted.

"TEMPLETON!" the others shouted at him. "Well it's true you know!" the rat complained, "There's no guarantee Zuckerman's going to..."

"Templeton, enough!" Charlotte cut him off with a deep frown. "Don't worry, Wilbur; you're not going off to market, I promise you that," she told the pig.

"I trust you, Charlotte," Wilbur managed another smile as he and the geese stepped ashore. "OK Orville, lead the way," he told the eagle, who was circling overhead, "Once we get close, I'll probably know the rest of the way; Fern took me for a few walks in the woods back then."

"This way, then," Orville winged off into the woods. Wilbur followed, shooting a cautious glance back up the river. "Don't worry, Wilbur; if Barrens doesn't know we're here, I think we've got the upper hand on him," Clem told him, shaking himself dry from the river, "He'll be concentrating on Zuckerman's farm; we're probably home free."

* * *

Had the dog himself looked back at that moment, however, he might have seen a pickup truck screeching to a stop atop the bridge they'd hidden under the previous evening. A man jumped out of the driver's side, hefted a set of binoculars, and stared at the riverbank upstream. With an excited yell, he reached into the truck and extracted a radio. "Mr. Barrens, it's Frascino; I've got him!" he told his boss, "He's going into the woods by the river about a half mile north of the Route 52 bridge!"

"Wonderful, Frascino! Which direction!?"

"Northeast from here, it looks like."

"Then he'll be coming out by John Arable's. All right, see if you can follow him discreetly and make sure that is where he comes out at. I'll message the rest of the men to converge there; once you have confirmation, let me know, and we'll swoop down on him."

* * *

"Morning, Papa, Mama," Fern greeted her parents, entering the kitchen for breakfast, "Did you hear anything from the sheriff about the big explosion last night?"

"No, not yet. It was probably a gas main explosion at Mr. Barrens' or something like that. Why is that so important to you?" her father raised his eyebrows.

"Oh...just concerned," she said quickly, sitting down and preparing to slice the waffles that had been set up in front of her seat.

"I see," Mrs. Arable said softly, shooting a quick glance to a piece of paper with Dr. Dorian's phone number attached to the refrigerator. "Avery, come on down here!" she called sternly up the stairs, "You have a dentist appointment in a half hour, in case you've forgotten!"

"Coming!" Avery called back down. Fern shook her head softly. "Papa, did Uncle Homer say if they'd found his sheep and geese yet?" she asked him next.

"I haven't called him yet today, but he hadn't found them yet last night. Strangest thing, why they'd walk off like that," Mr. Arable mused softly, "If I didn't..."

It was then that the doorbell rang. "Now who could that be at this hour of the morning?" Mrs. Arable mused, walking over and opening it. "Well good morning, Henry," she greeted the familiar face of Henry Fussy in the doorway, "What brings you over here so soon in the day?"

"Morning, Mrs. Arable. Turns out I had a free morning today and wanted to stop in to visit Fern," Henry explained, "If it's all right, of course..."

"Well, I don't see why not. I'll be taking her brother to a dentist appointment soon, but I guess her father'll be here to keep an eye out on the two of you, won't you, John?" Mrs. Arable asked her husband.

"I have those potatoes to dig right after breakfast, dear. But no reason Henry can't come by, provided he and Fern stay on the property," Mr. Arable turned to his daughter.

"Of course, Papa," Fern agreed.

"Very good. Come on in then, Henry," Mrs. Arable let him in. "Avery Arable, you have one more minute, or I'm coming up there and bringing you down myself!" she shouted to her son, stomping up the stairs. Fern suppressed a small chuckle. "Glad you could come, Henry," she greeted him with a smile, "What did you have in mind to do?"

"I'm not really sure," Henry confessed, "I just, well, had the morning off, and, well..."

"I understand, Henry," a wry smile was crossing Mr. Arable's face, "When I was your age, I thought much the same way towards a young girl I knew before I met Fern's mother."

"Well I wouldn't...that is to say, Mr. Arable..." Henry stammered.

"I get the idea, Henry," Fern smiled herself, "Say, we have some spare fishing poles in the storage shed; want to try our luck down by the brook and see if we catch anything? If that's all right, of course, Papa...?" she turned back to him.

"As long as you stay on the farm grounds, anything's fine by me. Keep an eye on her for me, Henry," Mr. Arable told him, rising up from his seat, "I've got some potatoes to dig now."

"Good luck, Mr. Arable," Henry wished him well as he walked out the door. "How far's the brook from here?" he asked Fern as she finished her breakfast and got up herself.

"Only about a five minute walk away. Come on," she led him out the door towards the storage shed.

"So, uh, how've you been doing lately?" he asked her.

"OK, I guess. But I'm worried too, Henry, about Wilbur. No one believes me on this so far, but..."

* * *

"I recognize these fields; this is the Arables' farm!" Wilbur exclaimed some twenty minutes later as he exited the woods on the west end of the Arables' property, "Fern used to push me around here in the stroller when I was still a piglet; I'd know this place by heart." He exhaled softly. "It's good to be home again."

"I'm sure it is, Wilbur," Charlotte grinned down knowingly from the old sheep's horn, "But remember, we're here for an important reason, and it's not sightseeing."

"I know. Come on, the farmhouse is this way!" Wilbur broke into a run despite his hunger, forcing everyone to rush to keep up. He tore down the lane until the Arables' house was in sight. "Fern!" he shouted rushing up to right underneath what he knew was her bedroom window, "Fern, it's Wilbur! Fern, I'm down here!"

There was silence from above, and no sound of life inside the house. "Fern, it's Wilbur!" he cried again at the window, "Fern, are you there?"

Again there was no sounds. "No, no, we can't have come this far for nothing; she's got to be here!" the pig whimpered, dashing around to the front of the house, "Fern! Avery! Anyone, are you in there!?"

He ran up to the front window and reared up on his hind legs, desperate for a look inside. With a loud flapping, the gander landed on the windowsill above him. "Nope," he shook his head softly, "Doesn't look like anyone's in, Wilbur. We must have timed it wrong-ong-ong."

"But...but...but...Fern wouldn't let me down like...that Arables wouldn't let me down like...!" Wilbur collapsed to the porch, deflated, "Now what do we do, Charlotte?" she asked the spider, "I was so counting on Fern being here..."

"Too bad, Mr. Terrific; that's the way the ball bounces sometimes," Templeton shrugged indifferently, "Oh well, since I'm here, might as well raid Arable's kitchen and see what he's..."

"Hey, isn't that the bike that boy Fern's friends with rides?" one of the goslings spoke up, gesturing at Henry's bike by the nearest bush.

"I believe it is," the old sheep nodded, "So that might mean Fern could still be on the property somewhere."

"Wonderful! But...there's dozens of acres on this farm; we might search all day and not find her..." Wilbur pointed out.

"We will, Wilbur. Orville, circle over the farm and see where any of the humans might be," Charlotte told the eagle, now perched on the farmhouse's drainpipe above them, "Once you do, get back to us. The rest of you, spread out," she instructed the other animals, "We can make this work quicker if we search on the ground as well."

"All right then. You take the north end of the farm, my dear, and I'll go south-outh-outh," the gander told his wife.

"Fair enough. Come, children; we've got to find Fern and any of the other Arables that may be on the property-operty-operty soon," the goose instructed her children, herding them close, "And what of Wilbur, Charlotte?" she asked the spider.

"Actually, I'd like to take a look around, if that's all right," Wilbur spoke up, glancing around the farm, "I, well, would like to catch up on, well, what I once knew around here..."

"I'll go with you, Wilbur," Jeffrey eagerly rushed away from his family towards the pig, "I've wanted to see where you were hatched."

"Pigs don't hatch out of eggs, Jeffrey," Wilbur laughed, "But I'd be glad to have you along-if it's all right with your folks," he glanced up at the goose, who looked hesitant.

"Well, after what might have happened earlier..." the goose began with a frown.

"I'll keep an eye on them," Charlotte told her, ballooning down from the old sheep's horns onto Wilbur's head, "Nothing's going to happen to him under my watch. You go search the east side of the farm," she told the old sheep.

"Be careful, Charlotte; somehow, I've got a funny feeling deep down that we're not quite out of the woods just yet..." the old sheep shot a worried glance back down the road they'd come up before sauntering off. Wilbur did not notice her exit, as his gaze had locked in on a familiar object partially in the bushes near Henry's bike. "Is that..?" Charlotte asked him.

"Yes, that's the stroller Fern used to push me around in," Wilbur said, staring up at it, "I kind of remember it being a lot bigger back then, though. But when she'd take me around in it, I felt like...like I was a king, like I was really on top of the world, that I was a really special someone. I missed that when I came to Mr. Zuckerman's farm..." he stepped backwards for a better view of the stroller. "It looks like it hasn't been used in some time. Almost as if Fern's moving on...but that can't be right..."

"Oh but it can, you big hunk of bacon," Templeton snickered, "Very soon, mark my words, Fern's going to dump you like yesterday's news. This Fussy kid's her ticket away from you, and once..."

He jumped and crawled into a ball, quaking, as a loud pop rang out from the fields behind them. "I surrender!" he cried out.

"Relax, that's just a planter backfiring," Clem assured the rat, rolling his eyes. The dog glanced around the farm. "Looks like this was a great place to grow up for a while, Wilbur," he told the pig, looking melancholy himself, "How far back do you remember?"

"Hmm...I definitely remember Fern grabbing the ax off her father and pleading with him to spare my life..." Wilbur reminisced.

"And I'll bet she overacted while doing it like there was no tomorrow," Templeton muttered with a roll of his eyes. Wilbur paid him no heed. "I can remember my...my mother," a strange look crossed his face, "I wonder if she's still...I know Fern's father sold the rest of my brothers and sisters, and they're probably long gone from here, but maybe my mother...it would have been right over...come on," he gestured for everyone to follow him towards a series of pens by the nearest barn. "I think it was...it was...this one," he stopped by the one on the left, which was filled with about seven or eight pigs. "Hello there," he called to them, "Do any of you remember me?"

"Who are you?" one of the pigs squinted at him, "I've never seen you before. What are you doing around here, running wild like this?"

"Well, if you don't know me. maybe one your penmates might. I was the spring pig here earlier this year; do any of you remember me?" Wilbur pressed them.

"Spring pig?" another pig walked forward, frowning, "Wait a minute, weren't you the one Fern took as a personal pet?"

"Yes, that's me, Wilbur."

"Yeah, we remember you," another pig approached the fence, scowling, "What made you so special to get that preferential treatment? And why are you back here now?"

"Huh?" Wilbur's expression dropped, "What...what are you saying...?"

"We're saying that a big celebrity like you has no place here," snapped another pig, "A pig's function in life is to eat and wallow in mud, nothing more. It's certainly not to be wheeled around strollers and feted with words in webs."

"So you've heard...?"

"Everyone's heard. Fern couldn't shut up about you. You think you're so special? Well you're a disgrace to the name of pig," snarled the first pig, "We don't like celebrities who can't accept the way things are around here. So whatever you came back here for, finish it and go, because you're not one of us and you never will be."

"But...I...I..." Wilbur stammered, hurt, "But...don't you know what we pigs are raised for...isn't it asking too much to want to live...!? And I just want to be friendly...!"

"Why worry about living when you can be fat and content?" sneered another pig, "Renegades like you aren't welcome around here."

He turned his back to Wilbur, who slumped to the ground. "My own family...rejected by my own family...well, not my own direct family, but still.." he lamented, his eyes starting to water, "Why..!?"

"It's nothing you've done, Wilbur," Charlotte tried to comfort him, "If they can't see past a narrow view of life, then it's their mistake, not yours. Some animals and people simply don't want to appreciate the gift that life is."

"Besides, Wilbur," Jeffrey leaned against his big friend, "We're as much your family too. Aren't we, Charlotte?" he asked the spider.

"Of course, Jeffrey. Family isn't always the same species, Wilbur," Charlotte told him, "And all of us will always be here for you as your family."

"Even Templeton?" the gosling turned to the rat, who snorted and turned away.

"Even Templeton, whether he realizes it or not."

"Dream on, oh mighty webmistress. If you think for one moment that Wilbur means anything to me, you're..." Templeton started to rant.

"Hey, we said move on if you're done," snapped one of the Arables' pigs, "You're not..."

"Quiet, let me through," came a stern voice. The pigs parted to let a large sow approach the fence. She stared Wilbur down. "I remember you well," she said, her own eyes starting to moisten, "I had hoped against hope when I saw how small you were that fate would step in for you. It appears I was right, my son..."

"Mother..." Wilbur mused, walking up to the fence looking right at her, "You...you haven't forgotten..."

"I never forget my children. Even the spring pigs. And I hate to see any of them die, even if that's what pigs are for. It's Wilbur now, is it?" she nuzzled him, "From what I've heard, you've done very well, and it sounds like maybe, just maybe, you'll have the chance that not many of the rest of us might."

"I, I hope so, Mother, and I have Charlotte to thank that for that," Wilbur gestured up at the spider atop his head, "She's been looking out for me all this time; she's the one who's been writing the words in the web to try and save me."

"I assumed as much. And I thank you," Wilbur's mother commended Charlotte with a smile, "Even in the brief time I did have him, I knew there was something about him, something that said he deserved more than the usual life of a pig. Maybe many of the other pigs here don't care about more than what we're supposed to do in life, but...well, maybe because I am a mother..."

"And every mother wants to see their children go far. I know, so do I, even though I probably won't get to know myself," Charlotte nodded with a somewhat grim expression, "Don't you worry though, Miss; I'm going to do everything I can to ensure your son lives a full natural life, I promise. He deserves it."

"Probably won't get to know about your children? What do you mean, Charlotte?" Wilbur asked, confused.

"I'll tell you exactly what she means, Bacon Boy; soon after..." Templeton started to snort, but it was then that a loud screeching sound rang out overhead. "Danger! Danger!" Orville cried out, swooping low over them, "Barrens' men and dogs approaching the farm; there's a small army of them!"

"At least two dozen, and they're all armed!" Clem, who'd wandered off, came running towards the pigpens with a terrified expression, "We've got to run and hide, fast!"

"Oh no...!" Wilbur gulped, only now hearing the angry barking of more dogs in the fields on the western end of the Arables' farm. "Mother, where can we hide!?" he asked her.

"Let me think..." his mother squinted her eyes shut desperately, "Um...try the sheep's barn. There's deep hay in there, and the back door's usually unlocked and opens up to the wheat fields. You can escape with cover in the clutch. Hurry, go!" she pleaded him.

"I will," Wilbur started off, then turned. "Thank you for caring, Mother," he smiled at her.

"I'll always love you, my son," she returned the smile. Their eyes remained connected until Templeton gave Wilbur a hard shove. "Go on, oh radiant Wilbur, do you want them to catch you in the open!?" the rat upbraided him.

"Sounds like you do care for him, Templeton," Jeffrey grinned.

"Shut up, kid," Templeton told him off, racing away. "Where are you going now!?" the gosling called after him.

"I'm going to probably hate myself for this tomorrow, but I have an idea. Go hide with your big friend," the rat called over his shoulder at him.

"You heard him, Wilbur, let's go," Charlotte told him, glancing back nervously at the now louder barking behind them, "We don't have much time..."


	12. The Wrath of JL Barrens

"Think I got one," Henry exclaimed, reeling in his line, which had started bowing. Moments later, he pulled a large trout out of the stream. "Good job," Fern commended him, helping him unhook it.

"Thanks," he managed a small grin. "So, Fern, um, do you think you'll be going to the county fair next month? I think my mother's going to take me, and if you're going to go, maybe..."

"Well, I don't know yet, Henry," Fern admitted, "But if Uncle Homer's going to take Wilbur, I think I'll be going. And if you'll be there, I'm sure we can..."

Just then, a loud honking rang out behind them. "Huh?" Henry spun and frowned at the goose and her goslings coming towards them, waving their wings, "What are they doing all the way down here...?"

"Hold on, that's Uncle Homer's goose, the one that's been missing," Fern rose to her feet concerned, "What are you doing here?" she asked the goose, "Is it something to do with Wilbur? Is he...?"

The goose honked louder and thrust her neck upwards, as if communicating with someone above. Fern looked up in time to see Orville swoop down low, screeching. He took off back towards the farm. "What was that all about?" Henry wondered out loud.

"I think I know, Henry; he wants us to follow him, doesn't he?" Fern asked the geese. They all honked and nodded as best they could, then waddled after Orville as fast as they could. "Henry, let me have your bike," Fern quickly jumped on it before he could protest, "I think something's going on, and it might concern Wilbur."

"Fern, what's going on here?" Henry protested, running after her after she rapidly started peddling away.

"I don't know, but I think we might be needed. Come on, quick!" Fern urged him, peddling harder.

* * *

"Excuse us please, this is an emergency!" Wilbur shouted to the ram in the stall closest to the back door in the sheep barn, brushing past him and diving headlong into the hay.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing in here!?" the ram shouted, bending down and lifting Wilbur back up out of the hay with his horns, "This is a private stall...!"

"This is a matter of life or death, Mr. Sheep!" Jeffrey protested, burrowing deep into the hay next to Wilbur, followed by Clem.

"Whatever you do, don't give us away; there's men out there who are prepared to do anything to get Wilbur. So just pretend we're not here," Charlotte advised the ram, climbing up the wall to the window. "What do you see, Charlotte?" Wilbur whispered, diving back under the hay.

"Better stay down and stay quiet, Wilbur; a half dozen or so men coming this way, all armed," Charlotte told him, making Wilbur gulp nervously. It was indeed moments later that the growls of dogs got very close to the barn's front door. "...he wasn't in any of the pigpens; search every building!" Barrens shouted.

"Mr. Barrens, please, we can't do this, invading another man's farm like this!" Butch protested, "Let's just wait and ask John Arable to...!"

"Butch, Hucks said if I don't hand that pig over to him by noon today, the deal's off! And I'm not losing that deal and the money that goes with it! Go search the chicken coops!"

"All right, all right," Butch muttered, sounding disgusted. His footsteps stormed away. Barrens', meanwhile, entered the barn. The sheep baaed in protest as he threw stall doors open one at a time. Wilbur sat fearfully still in his stall. "Where's Templeton, and what's he doing!?" he whispered softly to his fellow hiders.

"Beats me, and from what I've seen of him, he's probably stuffing himself in the kitchen instead of doing anything constructive," Clem muttered, "Just stay quiet, and..."

"Barrens!" came Mr. Arable's angry voice, making Wilbur breathe a large sigh of relief, "What the blazes do you think you're doing coming onto my farm like this with a small army and rampaging through my barns!?"

"Relax, John, this'll only take a minute or two; I lost a pig last night, and I think it came here," Barrens explained calmly, "So just give me a moment and..."

"So you think that because you own half the county, you can just barge onto someone's farm without permission and wave guns around! Well I don't care how much money you've got, Barrens; if you don't pack up and get out of here in five minutes, I'm calling the sheriff!"

"You're not going to..." Barrens stopped. Wilbur heard the sound too: dogs sniffing and growling in front of the stall he was hiding in-and they now began scratching at the door. "Oh no...!" he gulped worriedly.

"You've got something, boys? One side, John; this might be it," Barrens said darkly. Before Wilbur could react, the stall door was thrown open. Snorting, the ram charged forward, but Barrens jumped aside. "And what have we HERE!?" he reached down and yanked Wilbur up out of the hay. "Got you at last you little swine!"

"Barrens, put that pig down and get out of here!" Mr. Arable stormed over, "I don't care if...hold on," he squinted at the squealing squirming Wilbur, "That pig looks an awful lot like Wilbur..."

"Uh, no, it's not Zuckerman's pig," Barrens rambled, putting Wilbur behind his back, "I, uh, can understand why you might think it looks like him, though; I noticed myself...down, down, you stupid mutt!" he snapped at Clem, who'd leaped out of the hay snarling. He pinned Clem against the stall wall with his foot and continued to Mr. Arable, "Um, well, I won't trouble you anymore, John, so I'll just be on my way with my pig..."

"Charlotte, do something!" Wilbur cried desperately to her in the rafters.

"Hold your water, Wilbur," came Templeton's call from across the barn. Wilbur looked up to see the rat in the rafters, clutching several large eggs. "After all, it worked before," Templeton reasoned out loud, tossing the eggs down to the barn floor, where they cracked open, sending up a tremendous stench. Both Barrens and Mr. Arable-as well as Barrens' dogs-groaned in disgust from the smell and stumbled around, holding their noses. Barrens, in the process, released Clem, who lunged forward and bit his former master's leg, making him howl harder and stumbled to his knees on the ground, where he was butted by the ram in the rear end and sent sprawling. "Run, quick!" Clem told Wilbur, shoveling Jeffrey onto the pig's nose, "We don't have much time!"

Wilbur was out of the stall like a shot before Barrens or his dogs could recover. "Charlotte!?" he glanced backwards.

"Don't stop, Wilbur, keep running!" Jeffrey begged him, glancing worriedly backwards, where the dogs were growling again.

"OK, but I don't know where I'm running to now, Jeffrey!" Wilbur nonetheless raced out the door. "Templeton," he greeted the rat, who was racing around the side of the barn, "Good thinking there with..."

"Don't thank me, Wilbur; I did it because I hate Barrens, not because I care for you," Templeton snorted, "But since rotten eggs kept Avery from knocking Queen Charlotte out of her web before, I figured they would be just as effective here."

"And for once, you thought well, Templeton," Charlotte ballooned down onto Wilbur's head from the hayloft.

"Finally, some respect from you, your worship," Templeton bowed sarcastically to her, "So now what?"

"Run!" Clem reiterated, running out of the barn. Barrens' dogs lunged after him, growling ominously. "Rats first!" a now panicked Templeton leaped onto Wilbur's back and smacked him there to prod him to go. "As I was saying, where to now, Supreme Leader?" he demanded to Charlotte.

"Head for the fields; see if we can lose them," Charlotte told Wilbur.

"Oh, utterly brilliant, Charlotte; if they're on our tail, they can still smell us out in no time, no matter how thick the vegetation!" the rat complained.

"Then I guess there's only one thing to do; buy you time," Clem came to a stop. "Keep going," he told Wilbur, who also screeched to a halt, "I'll hold them off."

"Clem, you can't be serious!" Wilbur protested, seeing the other dogs coming right at them with snapping teeth, "You're no match for them!"

"At least my life will count for something if you get away safe. Now go, quick!"

"Clem, I won't let...!"

Clem growled and snapped his jaws at the pig, making Wilbur cry out and take off running again. Wilbur looked over his shoulder in horror as Clem, with a deep breath, leaped back towards the other dogs and started brawling with them. "Charlotte, we can't let them get away with this!" he pleaded to her, nonetheless continuing to run, "He can't possibly handle all of them; they'll kill him!"

"That's a chance we'll have to take, Wilbur," Charlotte said solemnly with a shake of the head, "Let's escape and make sure it counts, like he said."

"But Charlotte, he's my friend; I can't...!" Wilbur let out a loud shriek as hands abruptly grabbed him as he raced past the springhouse and lifted him up the air, sending Jeffrey toppling off his nose (although both Charlotte and Templeton managed to hold on). "Wilbur, Wilbur, it's me, don't panic!" it was, however, Fern who had grabbed him. Wilbur breathed a huge sigh of relief. "Wilbur, I'm glad you're all right," Fern hugged him close, "We've got to get you back to Uncle Homer's. Thank you for letting me know he was here," she looked down and told the goose and her children, now joined by the gander.

"What's going on here, Fern?" a confused Henry asked her as she placed Wilbur (along with Charlotte and Templeton, still clinging to the pig) into the basket of his bike and climbed onto the seat again.

"I'm taking him back to Uncle Homer's, Henry. Go get my father and have him call the sheriff," Fern told him breathlessly, "He can have..."

"Hey, girl, that's not your pig!" came the shout from one of Barrens' men, who had popped out from around the corner, "Mr. Barrens, here he is!" he shouted backwards.

Fern gasped and quickly started pedaling Wilbur away into the fields. "Not this time, young man!" the goose bent down and grabbed Jeffrey in her beak when he tried to run after the bike and hefted him up in the air despite his honks of protest, "I will not let you get into this grave of danger-anger-anger that the current situation...!"

"FREEZE. KID!" came Barrens' furious shout, making the geese look up and gasp at the sight of him running towards the springhouse, a shotgun in hand. He started to raise it towards the retreating Fern...

"STOP!" Mr. Arable rushed up and shoved the shotgun skyward before he could fire, "Have you gone mental, Barrens; that's my daughter!"

"Let go of me, Arable!" Barrens struggled with him for control of the gun. Finally, he pushed Mr. Arable aside and took aim again, but luckily Fern was out of sight. Roaring in a rage, he dug out a radio. "Butch, Arable's daughter's taking him into the woods on a bike, heading towards Zuckerman's! Set the dogs loose that way and tell the men to try and cut her off! Pick me up in the wheat field!"

"Barrens, you maniac, you can't...!" Mr. Arable tried to grab him, but got shoved to the ground for his trouble, as too was Henry when he tried to step into his path. Barrens raced off into the field after Fern, his shotgun cradled close. "Mr. Arable, what's going on here!?" Henry asked him, helping him up.

"Henry, go to the house and call the sheriff! Tell him to send as many men as he can to the roads between here and the Zuckerman farm!" Mr. Arable shouted at him, "Tell him this is a major emergency! Hurry, go!" he shouted again when Henry initially hesitated, sending the boy into a sprint for the house. Mr. Arable turned and broke into a run for his truck in the distance, disappearing just as the old sheep galloped into sight from the other side of the springhouse. "What did I miss!?" she gasped between deep breaths.

"Everything; Barrens has now gone completely insane-ane-ane!" the gander honked out breathlessly, gulping himself at the sight of trucks carrying Barrens' men barreling into the field, "And I don't know what else we can do about it...!"

"Orville's on it," the goose gestured overhead at the sight of the eagle winging towards the woods, "As for us, though, let's follow as quickly as we can-and hope-ope-ope Fern can outrun them..."


	13. Home Sweet Home

"Hold tight, Wilbur, I'll get you back home to Uncle Homer's," Fern told him, pedaling hard through the woods, "It's not more than two miles or so this way; it shouldn't take more than five minutes to get there...boy, you've put on a lot of weight, though," she remarked, as the pig's mass was slowing her down somewhat. She glanced downward at the edge of the basket, where Charlotte was crouching, staring into the woods ahead. "You got him out of Mr. Barrens', didn't you, Charlotte?" she asked the spider with a smile, "Wilbur owes so much to..."

"Dogs, dogs, dogs!" Templeton shouted, pointing hard with his claw. And indeed, loud barking rang out in the woods right behind them. Fern turned and gasped to see at least a dozen dogs about two thousand feet behind her and closing. Moreover, the roar of truck engines could be heard behind the dogs. "Mr. Barrens doesn't give up easy...!" she lamented.

"Fern...!" Wilbur squealed out a warning as the leading dog of the pack leaped towards the basket and snapped its jaws at him, just missing and falling flat to the ground. Fern turned hard to the right to avoid another dog that was springing at them, then abruptly to the left to narrow avoid colliding with one of Barrens' trucks, which braked hard to avoid hitting her. "That pig's not yours, little girl! Give it to us or else!" the truck's driver shouted at her.

"Never!" Fern defiantly shouted back. But more trucks were squealing to a halt all around her. Within moments, they were cut off and surrounded. "Nowhere to run, girl," Barrens leaned triumphantly out the window of one of the trucks, "Hand the pig over."

"Charlotte, what do we do now!?" Wilbur worriedly asked his friend.

"Give me a minute to think this over, Wilbur..." an equally worried Charlotte furled her brow in thought.

"What's there to think about!? We surrender and stay alive, that's what! I give up!" Templeton cried in Barrens' direction, thrusting his arms over his head, "I don't know this girl at all! She and the spider are lunatics!" he pointed accusingly at Charlotte, "They ratnapped me and brought me along against my will! I'll testify to it in court; just please don't kill me...!"

"There's got to be a way out of here," Charlotte ignored him, glancing around, "Some path that we can leave them..."

"Are you that stupid, Queen Charlotte!? We dead, doomed, done for, they got us!" Templeton continued lamenting.

"Are you handing the pig over on your own, girl, or do we have to take him by force!?" Barrens dared Fern, raising the handle of his shotgun above the dashboard for her to see. Gulping, Fern nonetheless shook her head firmly. "All right, have it your way. Ed, take him!" Barrens ordered one of his men, who climbed out of the cab of another truck and advanced towards Fern and Wilbur...

...but cried out and sprawled to the ground as a brown and white blur shot right by his face. "This way!" Orville cried out towards Fern, "There's a river crossing this way; you just might make it!"

"That way, Fern; follow the eagle!" Wilbur shouted at her. Fern, whose eyes had locked in on Orville anyway and had apparently understood the eagle's intentions, nodded and quickly pedaled off before the men could recover. A few made last minute lunges towards her, but missed. "After her! Don't let that pig get away!" Barrens raged at them. "Floor it, Butch!" he demanded to his foreman at the truck's wheel.

"This isn't right, Mr. Barrens!" Butch protested vehemently, "She's just a girl; I can't endanger...!"

"GO!" Barrens thrust his shotgun against Butch's temple. Gulping, Butch pressed down on the accelerator and followed the other trucks and dogs chasing after the bicycle. Meanwhile, Fern reached the top of a hill overlooking the river...and stopped. For the crossing was a long but narrow fallen tree that spanned the river. "That's it?" she mused, worriedly, "I don't know..."

"Orville, is this really it? I don't know if we can make it across that!" Wilbur protested to the eagle, now perched on a branch over their heads.

"It's the only way," Orville shook his head, "And you'd better go now, because here they come."

He glanced backwards, where the trucks were coming at them fast. Fern, having also glanced back, took a deep nervous breath. "Hold on, Wilbur, everyone; here we go..." she told her passengers, then pushed off down the hill towards the fallen tree, slowly gaining speed. "You're crazy! We'll never make it across that!" Templeton all but screamed at her, "This is suicide, pure and simple! Mother was right, I should have stayed back at...!"

"Have faith, Templeton," Charlotte tried to console him. "We can make it."

"Because if we don't, we're doomed," Wilbur shot another worried glance backwards, where Barrens' truck was rapidly catching up to Fern's bike. "Please make it...!" the pig whimpered softly, slamming his eyes shut right before the bike reached the riverbank. Fern shot onto the tree, the bike wobbling dangerously on the narrow pathway but managing to stay upright. When she was three quarters of the way across, however, Barrens' truck roared onto the tree as well, and its weight proved too much. The tree cracked in two, sending the truck splashing into the river...and, on the other side, sending the other end of the tree tilting upwards from its stump. Fern pedaled hard, but was now fighting against gravity and slowly sliding back towards the river. "Use your feet and climb up!" Orville screeched down to her, circling overhead, "You'll have to use your feet!"

Fern, having apparently reached the same conclusion, took her feet off the pedals and quickly walked up the tree trunk until she was close enough to the far bank to jump to dry ground with the bike. "That was close. You all right, Wilbur?" she asked him with a deep sigh of relief. Wilbur oinked in affirmation. "Good. Let's keep going, then..." she climbed back aboard.

"Get back here, you!" an enraged Barrens yelled from the river, raising his shotgun towards her again. "NO!" Butch grabbed the gun and wrestled him for it, "I didn't sign up for this! I didn't join with you to shoot girls!"

"Let go of me, Butch, or you're fired!" his boss shouted.

"I quit! I wash my hands of you and this whole...!" Butch roared at him. Barrens kicked him hard in the abdomen and shoved him into the river. He took aim again, but Fern had disappeared into the trees. "Blast it!" he muttered in disgust, racing back to his truck. "Everyone, she crossed the river and she's heading for Zuckerman's!" he barked into his radio to his men while driving rapidly upstream, "All of you on the far side, cut her off at the edge of the woods!"

* * *

"Shouldn't be too much farther, Wilbur," Fern huffed, pedaling up a steep hill, "I think once we get to the top here, we should be right at the boundary of Uncle Homer's farm. Then we just put you back in your pen, and all's well. You'll be glad to be back in your web, right Charlotte?" she asked the spider. Charlotte gave a small nod of affirmation. "I'll bet. Then maybe you'll come up with an even bigger message for Wilbur..."

"We're not out of the woods yet, kiddies, in more ways than one!" Templeton shouted, hearing brakes squealing above them. Fern looked up and gasped to see more trucks braking to a stop atop the hill. Men piled out and formed a line in front of her. "Stop, right now!" one of them demanded, "Stop or we'll use force, girl, I swear it!"

"Um..." Fern slowed in shock. She glanced down at Wilbur in the bike's basket, then back up at the top of the hill-and, specifically, a large rock that was angling upwards towards them. A determined look crossed her face. "Hold on again," she told her passengers, and suddenly started pedaling faster again. A loud screech overhead made her briefly look up as Orville once more swooped directly overhead, heading straight for the men standing in front of the rock. They yelped and hit the ground to avoid having him run into them, which cleared a path for Fern. She rapidly launched off the rock as if it were a ramp, soared through the air over the stunned men and their trucks, and landed with a thud on the other side, then pushed into the adjacent cornfield, which quickly swallowed her from sight to the men. "Yes!" she declared excitedly, "And now we're back home at Uncle Homer's!" she added, recognizing the cornfield she was pedaling through now, "Just a little further, Wilbur, and we're home free," she told the pig with a smile, pumping her legs harder than ever.

"Home," Wilbur sighed happily, "It never felt so good to be back home."

"And for once, terrific old Wilbur, we're in complete agreement," Templeton nodded, leaning eagerly over the edge of the basket. Fern soon exited the cornfield onto the road to the Zuckerman farm and turned right. The barn loomed in the distance, as if beckoning them home. Within a minute, Fern skidded her bike to a stop in front of Wilbur's pen, to the cheers of the lambs and cows that were waiting at the railings for them. "We did it, Charlotte," Wilbur told the spider in relief, "We're back."

"Home sweet home...which means I've fulfilled my contract and don't have to do anything else for the pig of the hour today, so adios for now, Bacon Boy," Templeton leaped off the bike into the pen, raced under the trough, and dove down into his tunnel in a flash. Fern laughed at the haste of the rat's exit. "All right, Wilbur, let's get you back inside," she told him, hefting him out of the bike's basket, "Hello there," she greeted Sixtus, who'd approached the fence himself, "Now that I've got Wilbur back, you won't have to stay here anymore, so I'll let Uncle Homer..."

"For the last time, give me that pig, girl!" came Barrens' cold voice behind her. Sopping wet, the farmer grabbed hold of Wilbur and started pulling him away. "Let go of him!" Fern screamed, pulling Wilbur back, "He's not yours!"

"He certainly is mine now, and I have legal proof that'll hold up in any court! Now let go of him if you know what's good for you!" Barrens threatened.

"Never!" Fern shrieked, "And Wilbur's not yours; he was never yours! And I won't let you take him away from his home here so you can make money off him!"

"I'm warning you for the last time, girl, let go of my pig, or else!"

"No, never! I'd rather die than let you have him!"

"That can be arranged...!"

"Barrens!" came Mr. Zuckerman's furious shout. Barrens spun to find himself staring right into a double-barreled shotgun. "Take your hands off that pig and get away from my niece!" Mr. Zuckerman ordered the other farmer.

"Homer...this...this isn't what it looks like, really...!" Barrens stammered.

"What is this!?" Mr. Zuckerman's eyes shot back and forth between Wilbur and Sixtus in the pen, "Two Wilburs!? What's the story here, J.L., and talk fast!" he demanded.

"Um, well, Homer, I..."

There came the wail of a siren. The sheriff's cruiser was pulling up the road, followed by Mr. Arable's truck. "Fern!" the latter shouted, jumping from the cab once he'd pulled to a stop and running to his daughter, "Fern, are you all right!?"

"I am, Papa, and so's Wilbur, thankfully," Fern gestured at him on the ground. "Mr. Sheriff," she greeted him when he came striding over, "Mr. Barrens here kidnapped Wilbur; he switched him with this other pig," she gestured into the pigpen at Sixtus, "He was going to sell Wilbur to a promoter who was going to take him around the country and earn money off him..."

"She's lying Garth; you're really going to believe the words of a hysterical little girl?" Barrens pressed the sheriff, "I can get you another term easy if we can agree to just drop everything here and now..."

"Sorry, J.L., can't let you off this time," the sheriff shook his head grimly, "John here swears you practically invaded his farm and tried to shoot his daughter when she rode off with this pig," he pointed to Mr. Arable, then down at Wilbur.

"Well, it's my pig, Garth, it truly is; I can present clear documentation..."

"Forget it, Barrens, that's not going to fly," Mr. Zuckerman cut in, scowling, "I never sold you Wilbur, and made it quite clear I wouldn't, so any documentation you bring up's a forgery."

"And I've gotten reports of emaciated and sick animals that could only have come from your farm wandering around the county all day," the sheriff told Barrens sternly, "Seeing a lot of them up close, I can say I've got multiple clear cut cases of animal abuse here, besides this possible pignapping scheme. So James Leland Barrens, you're hereby under arrest for kidnapping, animal abuse..."

"This is all a big mistake, Garth, honest! Don't forget who it was who got you into office; I can bump you up to county commissioner easily if you'll just let this go!" Barrens protested desperately, "Here, I can give you fifty thousand to just let this slide for now, and I can take you as far as you want..." he dug out the money and thrust it at the sheriff.

"...and for attempting to bribe an officer of the law," the sheriff shoved Barrens' hand down with a scowl, "I may have gotten this office with your help, but I'm beholden to the law more than you or any other person. You have the right to remain silent; anything you say or do can and will..."

"Garth, please, it's my pig, I swear it!" Barrens burst into tears, "I can prove it, honest...!"

"No he can't! He ordered me to snatch Zuckerman's Famous Pig so he could profit off him, just like the girl said!" Butch leaned out the back window of the sheriff's cruiser, scowling at Barrens, "I'll tell you anything you want to know, Sheriff!"

Barrens stammered in shock. "As I was saying, J.L.," the sheriff firmly led him away, "...anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law..."

* * *

"I can't believe Barrens almost took Wilbur out from under us and we never even realized it," Mrs. Zuckerman said in amazement, staring with her husband and Mr. Arable at Wilbur, now safely back in his pen.

"Well, given how eager he was to buy him, I probably should have seen it sooner," Mr. Zuckerman mumbled, "But no matter. You're back home now, Wilbur, and he'll never bother you again," he rubbed Wilbur behind the ears.

"And what of this pig?" Mrs. Zuckerman turned to Sixtus, sitting in a crate on the ground behind them.

"I agreed to take him, Edith," Mr. Arable told her, "I can give him a good home. And in a way, he'll compensate for Wilbur coming here. And who knows, if you're going to keep Wilbur alive, maybe I'll do the same with this one."

"Why not? Looks like we're starting a tradition of sorts, John," Mr. Zuckerman chuckled, "We're not going to be much good at farming if we keep all our pigs alive, but we..."

A truck horn blared. "What's this now?" he mused, staring at the large truck pulling up behind them. "Can I help you gents with something?" he approached it.

"Homer L. Zuckerman?" the driver asked.

"Yep, that's me."

"We saw a sheep and some geese walking along the highway earlier today. We called in and found you'd reported them missing, so we loaded them up and brought them back for you," the driver nodded to the man in the passenger seat, who climbed out and opened the truck's back door. The old sheep galloped out, followed by the geese. "Well I'll be," Mr. Zuckerman exclaimed in delight, "I thought they were all gone for good. Welcome home, old girl," he greeted the old sheep, opening the front of her pen and shooing her inside, where she was instantly mobbed by the lambs. "Same with all of you," he told the geese, who were waddling back to their nest, "I was starting to lose hope that...my word, what else have we here?" he exclaimed, noticing another figure climbing out of the truck...

"Clem!" Wilbur gasped in delight. His dog friend, limping but alive, slowly approached the fence, where he gave the pig a relieved smile. "He was with them too," the driver explained, "And clearly he was in no shape to go out on his own..."

"I know him," Mr. Arable bent down to Clem's level, "He was fighting with Barrens' dogs while Fern and Wilbur escaped from my farm. I scared them off, or they probably would have killed him. I was going to call the vet for him, but..."

"Poor thing, he looks underfed too," Mrs. Zuckerman rubbed Clem on the back, "Well, we'll get you a good meal, boy. And do you think we can give him a good home here, Homer?" she asked her husband.

"Well I don't see why not," Mr. Zuckerman nodded, "Get him fed up to normal again, and I reckon he'll fit in just fine around here."

"More animals around here, Mr. Zuckerman?" Lurvy was approaching with slop buckets in hand.

"Looks like it, Lurvy. Give me a hand with this pig when you're done; I'm taking him back to my place," Mr. Arable asked him.

"Sure thing," Lurvy dumped Wilbur's dinner into the trough, then strained to help Mr. Arable lift up Sixtus's crate. "Goodbye, Sixtus. You're going to like it at Mr. Arable's," Wilbur called to him.

"I hope so," Sixtus called back, sounding optimistic, "Anything has to be better than where I've come from."

"It's wonderful there, trust me," Wilbur told him in parting. "Clem, so good to see you're all right," he turned to the dog with a grin, "I thought you were a goner..."

"For a moment I thought I was too. But Mr. Arable chased the other dogs away before they could finish me. He ran off before he could do anything else, but your sheep friend here gave me a lift when she and the geese decided to go back here on their own," Clem nodded towards the old sheep.

"Well we'll be glad to have you here, Clem. And as you've seen, the Zuckermans'll take real good care of you," Wilbur told him.

"Come on, boy," Mrs. Zuckerman now scooped Clem up her arms, "I'll take you inside and give you a nice warm meal, then we'll call the vet and get you fixed up nice and good."

She carried the dog away. Wilbur was relieved to see a warm smile spreading on Clem's face, realizing he had finally come home. "Fern," Mr. Arable was calling now, having loaded Sixtus aboard his truck, "Fern, time to go." He glanced down into the pigpen at Wilbur. "Amazing that she could tell Wilbur and that imposter pig apart," he mused to Mr. Zuckerman, "I'd've never guessed it in a million years."

"Neither would I, John," Mr. Zuckerman shook his head, "And so I can't help wondering...can she really understand what the animals say here?" he glanced around at all the animals in the area.

"Who knows, Homer? Who knows? Fern, come on, we're going to be late for dinner," Mr. Arable called again. Fern came running from the direction of the rope swing. "Coming, Papa. Is Wilbur all right?" she bent down to the pig's level to rub his head.

"Never better, Fern. And he's going to be a bigger star soon, because I'm going to take him to the county fair in September," Mr. Zuckerman told her, "I'll make the announcement to the public the next time they come, but so you know, I'm aiming to try and win a big prize with him."

"That's great, Uncle Homer," Fern exclaimed, "And Henry'll be there too, he told me earlier today, so we can enjoy the fair together too..."

"I'm sure. Well, don't forget Henry's bike there," Mr. Arable told his daughter, a wry smile in his eyes at the mention of Henry. Fern picked it up and carried it towards her father's truck. "Good night, Wilbur, glad you're all right," she waved to him in parting.

"Have a good night, Fern, John," Mr. Zuckerman waved goodbye as the Arables drove away, followed by the big truck. "Well, guess it's back to work again," he mused out loud, "Lurvy, go get the pitchforks when you're done; we're overdue to clean out the cows' stables," he called to his hired hand down by the tool shed. "Have a good night, Wilbur," he scratched the pig behind the ears, "Good to have you home."

He sauntered off, whistling. Wilbur exhaled loudly. "Yes, it's great to really, truly be home," he said softly.

"Welcome home, Wilbur!" the goslings all rushed his pen and embraced him as one. "Good to see all of you again too," Wilbur smiled at them, "And thank you for coming for me as well-both you and your parents," he turned the smile to the goose and gander outside.

"It was the least we could do for you Wilbur," the gander nodded, "You're as much a member of our family-amily-amily here as our children."

"And it was fun to go out and save the day while getting to see the world," the largest gosling boasted, "And we did it all as a family too," he grinned at his parents.

"Indeed we did, Samuel, indeed we did," his mother nodded, "Some day, when you have goslings of your own, this will be a wonderful-onderful-onderful story for you to tell to them."

"Sounds like a story we'd all love to hear too," one of the cows leaned around the corner, amused.

"Well, you see, after we went down the road, we all went into the woods, and we marched all night long," another gosling spoke up proudly, "Then this really big cat came and almost ate..."

"Well, there'll be plenty-enty-enty of time to tell that in the morning," the gander interrupted, "Right now, Albert and his siblings have to eat, and then get a good night's sleep."

"But the sun's not even down yet, Father!" a third gosling protested, pointing at the sun, which was low in the sky but not yet at the horizon.

"Now surely you're all hungry-ungry-ungry after a long couple of days away from here. If I..."

"What's that!?" cried one of the lambs, jumping behind the old sheep at the sight of a figure swooping down towards the barnyard. It was, however, just Orville, who came to a landing on the top railing of Wilbur's pen. "So, Zuckerman's Famous Pig is home at last," he smiled down at the pig.

"Sure am. And thanks for your help too, Orville," Wilbur thanked him. "Everyone, this is Orville, he helped the others break me out of Barrens' farm and get me back here," he told the other residents of the barn, who were staring in amazement at the wild newcomer.

"Well, the primary thanks to Miss Cavatica up there; she masterminded the whole thing," Orville stared up at Charlotte, making repairs to her web in the dusky light, "And I'm glad you talked me into coming to help you, Miss Cavatica," he told her, "I used to think it wasn't the prerogative of wild animals such as myself to help domestics, but I feel I've done a big service to help get Wilbur back here safely."

"And we couldn't have done it without you, Orville. So let me thank you as well," Charlotte called back to him. The eagle grinned at the large RADIANT in the web. "It's just as beautiful as I heard it was," he mused softly, "Well, keep it up, Miss Cavatica; I reckon you'll have this pig saved for good real soon. Well, best be on my way, then," he shifted around on the post to prepare for takeoff.

"Will I ever see you again, Orville?" Wilbur asked him.

"Look up in the sky on a sunny day. You just might see me checking in," Orville told him with a cryptic grin before taking off and flapping away into the setting sun. "Goodbye," Wilbur bid the eagle farewell, then eagerly approached his trough...

"Uh uh uh," Templeton scampered along the top of the trough and glared right in the pig's face, "For all the misery I got put through trying to save you, oh radiant Wilbur, I eat first here, and you don't until I'm done. It's all fair compensation as I see it."

"Templeton, we may not be the best of friends, but thank you for everything you did for me," Wilbur told the rat as he started gulping down the slop.

"Like I said before, big boy, I did it because I hate Barrens, because I certainly don't like you," Templeton snapped between bites.

"Oh I think you do, Templeton," Jeffrey approached the trough with a grin, "I think you do care for Wilbur deep down."

"Well you're delusional, you little Christmas dinner; Wilbur never has and never will mean anything to me. And another thing on that note, your Excellency," Templeton spun to face Charlotte in her web, "You've had your fun making me your indentured servant, but this was the absolute last time I do anything for you and/or Wilbur. No matter what bait you try and dangle in front of me from here on, the answer will be a resounding no, and nothing will talk me out of it. I am done, you hear me, done."

"Nice to know, Templeton. So when it's time to for Wilbur to go to the fair, I'll see how you feel then," Charlotte said with a wry grin.

"I said no, no way, no how, and nothing will change that. Well, good night, one and all, as I have a normal life I want to get back to," Templeton leaped off the trough and turned towards his tunnel with his nose in the air. And yet, Wilbur thought he saw the rat give what looked like a sympathetic backwards glance towards him before disappearing down the tunnel. Or perhaps, on the other hand, it had been an illusion due to the shadows under the trough. But he didn't care. "Maybe you're right," he grinned at Jeffrey, "Maybe deep down he does care a little bit even though he'd never say it."

"I think he does," the gosling grinned at the tunnel entrance, "Let me have some of your food too, Wilbur."

"One meal fit for a gosling, coming right up," Wilbur lifted his small friend up to the trough and let Jeffrey take a few bites. "Here," he grabbed an apple core from the trough in his mouth after having set the gosling back down, "Go long and catch it."

Jeffrey obligingly raced down the length of the pen. Wilbur flung the apple core towards him, which Jeffrey tried to catch in his wings, but it bonked him on the head instead, making the lambs burst into laughter next door. "All right, Jeffrey, time for bed," the goose called to him from the fence, herding the rest of his siblings out towards the nest, "You can play with Wilbur first thing in the morning-orning-orning."

"But it's still not sunset yet, Mother..."

"Go on; I promise we'll start first thing tomorrow after the sun rises," Wilbur told the gosling.

"Oh, all right. Sleep well, Wilbur," Jeffrey gave him a goodbye hug, then followed the other goslings back to the nest. "Have a wonderful evening, Wilbur," the goose bade him goodnight as well, sitting down on top of her children and yawning, "You gave us all an adventure-enture-enture we'll never forget."

"But of course, the best part of any adventure is coming home," the gander added, sitting down next to his wife and tucking his head under his wing. Wilbur nodded and walked back to the trough to finish the rest of his meal. He then retreated to the barn's doorway and sat down on the ground. "Thank you for everything, Charlotte," he smiled up to the spider, whose web glistened in the light of the setting sun above him, "I'd've never seen this place again if you hadn't come after me. You really are the best friend a pig, or anyone, really, could have."

"And you're the best friend a spider could have too, Wilbur," Charlotte told him, taking a munch out of a hornet that had blundered into the web while she'd been gone, "You deserve to live a full and happy life, and this was part of me making sure of it."

Almost subconsciously, she lowered herself down on a thread onto Wilbur's nose. "It is beautiful, isn't it?" she told him, staring at the setting sun with him, "There are times in this world you just have to sit back and appreciate how beautiful so much of life is..."

"I've realized that too, Charlotte. It's just so wonderful to be alive right now," Wilbur exhaled in delight, "I wish I could just freeze what I have right now at this very moment, and never have anything change again."

"I wish I could too, Wilbur, but that's not how life works, unfortunately. Change is always permanent, paradoxical as that may sound," the spider remarked with a melancholy sigh of her own.

"Promise you'll always be with me, Charlotte. I can't imagine life without you anymore, so promise me," Wilbur begged her. Charlotte sighed again, shaking her head glumly. Wilbur," she began slowly, "do you see the stars?" she pointed at the first stars blinking into sight in the twilight sky.

"Yes. Why?"

"Well, Wilbur, those stars live for millions, if not billions, of years. But eventually, they have to die out too. All living things do. But out of the remains of those stars, new stars form and live their own lives. So although the original star is gone for good, it still lives on through its offspring."

"What are you saying, Charlotte?" the pig was confused.

"Some day, Wilbur, in the not too distant future, I won't be here physically anymore. But don't worry, because even when I'm gone, I'll always be with you. Just remember that," she patted his nose softly, "Whenever you feel down, just think of me, and I'll be there for you. Because I know deep down you're going to live a full and happy life. And even if I'm not there personally, I will be there with you in spirit the whole way. Don't ever forget that Wilbur. I _will_ always be with you, that I do promise."

"Thank you, Charlotte," Wilbur smiled, watching the sun sink down under the horizon with his best friend, thrilled deep down at how lucky he was to have such a loyal friend-and, as he'd said, how good it definitely felt to be alive.

THE END


End file.
